


Valediction

by q_dicted



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Angst, M/M, What if?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-21
Updated: 2011-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-14 22:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 61,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/q_dicted/pseuds/q_dicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Brian realized what he was missing before the bombing? What if he changed just one thing, and that changed everything - the butterfly effect gone mad. Canon thru 509(ish), right down to some of the scenes/dialogue directly from the show. After that, all bets are off.</p><p>***</p><p>I really hate putting the 'Major Character Death' warning on this story because I know that many will automatically pass it by based on that alone. Yes, Valediction is a death-fic, but it is also a life!fic and a love!fic and my tribute to one of the greatest love stories ever told. I hope you'll take a chance and join me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to CowLip for bringing such rich, wonderful characters to life. All recognizable characters and scenes belong to them. All mistakes are mine and while I did try to get the medical parts right, I am no expert. I tried to be as accurate as possible and beyond that I claim dramatic license. Comments are always appreciated (and occasionally begged for *g*).
> 
> Audio Fic  
> For those who may be interested, Valediction is available as an audio file (read by me). If you would like a download link, comment here or send me a PM. ~q_dicted

**Brian**

Brian took a long hit off the joint burning low in his fingers and held it in, letting the buzz you only got from truly prime weed crawl over him. What a for shit day. First Mikey and his attitude at the diner, then Feldman busting his balls over the latest Home Station ad. Asshole. The idea of having to hold his hand through a pointless lunch was enough to make anyone lose their hard-on. But then he thought of all those zeroes on the check he’d handed over to Kinnetik and suddenly a few martinis didn’t seem like such a bad trade-off. Then there was Theodore.

 _“How about coming with me to Beth-Emmanuel’s mixer?”_  
  
He half-laughed, half-choked as the sound of Ted’s voice echoed in his head. Brian Kinney at a Jewish mixer for Homos without Hubbies. “Just fucking shoot me now.”

_“There are many uncertainties in this life, Theodore. Many mysteries beyond our comprehension, but one thing I know for a fact? I will never be Mrs. Seymour Goldfarb.”_

He wandered over to the stereo and loaded in some of his favorites, pretending not to notice the haphazard pile of CD’s strewn beside his neatly filed collection. Fucking Moby. Fucking blonds.

He pressed play and poured himself two fingers of Beam before he sat down again. He drew in another lung full of the pungent smoke and let the smooth jazz sounds push out thoughts of asshole clients and fractious blonds and Stepford fags. Mikey. He pulled his lips into his mouth and bit softly at them, then let the smoke out on a long sigh. How the fuck had things gone so far wrong? He took another long toke and washed it down with a swallow of Beam. He picked up one of the art magazines from his coffee table and wondered how _his_ name ended up in the subscription window as he flipped idly through it. But the question still lingered - how did he get here?

“Jesus Christ.” He tossed the magazine aside and laid back, closing his eyes and letting the music flow over him while he finished the last of the amber liquid. Ignoring his best efforts at oblivion, another conversation with Ted began to replay in his mind.  
 _  
“Come on Brian. You can’t fool me. You’ve got to free yourself of this burden, release it, let it all hang out.”_

There was a time when the gaze Brian leveled at Ted would have sent him scurrying for cover, but instead he nodded, urging Brian to confide in him. To both men’s amazement, and despite the fact that he would generally rather have his balls cut off (so to speak) than share ‘feelings’, Brian found himself answering Ted.

_“My mother is a frigid bitch. My father was an abusive drunk. They had a hateful marriage, which is probably why I am... unwilling, or unable to form a long term, committed relationship of my own. The fact that I drink like a fish, abuse drugs and have more or less redefined promiscuity doesn’t help. Much.”_

Ted stared at him, trying to recall if he’d ever been more surprised by Brian and barring his admission of having cancer, the answer was a resounding ‘no’. He wondered briefly if his boss was yanking his chain, but then Brian paused and pulled his lips into his teeth, and the flash of pain that glinted in the hazel eyes was nothing if not naked truth. Ted was reconsidering his decision not to run away when Brian continued in a tone of voice he wouldn’t have recognized were he not standing right in front of the man.

_“As a result I’ve lost the two people in my life that mean the most to me.”_

Ted blinked, wet his lips, and made a mental note to never again ask a question he really didn’t want to know the answer to. He swallowed hard. _“There... don’t you feel better now?”_ The insipidness of the question was magnified by the honesty of Brian’s response.

_“No. But I’m sure you do.”_

And then Number Nine on his 'to do' list had shown up and saved Ted from having to consider that particular truth too carefully. Ted made his escape and Brian resolved to think of some new and amusing way to torture him for his insubordination, and then promptly forgot about it as he pounded into the trick up against the glass-block wall of his office.

Brian had him, and then later he and Number Ten gave a whole new meaning to ‘fly the friendly skies’. He claimed victory over his would-be usurper – the pretender to his throne as the stud of Liberty Avenue. And with that, another dubious chapter was added to the Kinney legend. Brian sat up abruptly and shook his head.

“Fuck this." Numbers nine and ten notwithstanding, he’d had enough lesbian moments in the past few days to last him a lifetime. They wouldn’t be happy until he grew a pussy and hell would freeze over before that happened. Sure, he might have declined to claim his prize from Brandon, but that had nothing to do with Ted's admonitions or Lindsay’s lectures. Tossing Brandon’s pants at him and sending him on his way was his way of showing the upstart just how little a threat he considered him. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that it was the wrong blond that lay across his twelve-hundred thread count sheets with his ass in the air.

The joint was little more than a roach in his fingers when he heard the sharp knock at his door. He stubbed it out in the ashtray and blew out the last remnants of smoke before sliding the door open. For a brief moment he hoped the blur of red and smell of tuna was a hallucination brought on by the eighty-bucks-an-eighth weed. No such luck.

“That Thelonious?” Debbie chirped, cocking her ear to the softly playing music. She breezed by him snapping her gum, her smile wide.

“That tuna-macaroni casserole?”

“You got it.”

“Don’t want it,” Brian said, typically blunt. Debbie just stared back at him, still smiling and uncharacteristically silent. “Tuna casserole means that we’re going to get stoned and have a Very Meaningful Conversation.” Brian shrugged, “Unfortunately, I just finished my last joint.” He stood in front of the open door, already just stoned enough to entertain the possibility that she might take the subtle hint, yet singularly unsurprised when Debbie just giggled and drew a single, somewhat battered joint out of her bra.

“Fortunately, I brought one with me!” She pushed Brian aside and slid the door shut behind them, waiting pointedly for him to offer a light. Accepting his fate, Brian touched his lighter to the joint and couldn’t disguise his amusement as she sparked it up like a pro.

“Does Detective Horvath know his blushing bride is a pothead?”

Debbie snorted, holding the pungent smoke deep in her lungs. “Nothing kills a good relationship faster than full disclosure.”

Brian laughed along with her then, snatching the joint out of her fingers. “Give me some of that.”

They passed it back and forth, alternating tokes and forkfuls of macaroni and Brian waited for the shoe to drop. As usual with Debbie, it was more of a Doc Martin than a Gucci loafer and she dropped it with love and without preamble.

“I don’t like the way you’ve been treating Michael.”

Brian took a quick hit before he uttered the useless request. “Butt the fuck out.”

The inevitable arguments went back and forth. He loves you. He’s changed. He’s living his life now. He’s living a lie. He’s grown up. He’s a pseudo hetero. It was a script they could’ve recited in their sleep and even to Brian’s own ears it sounded... tired. Then Debbie moved in for the kill.

“Your problem is, he left you. He left you and he moved on.” Her soft tone belied the harsh words, but still Brian’s eyes cast down, the mask of stony indifference slipping just a little as he took them in. She looked hard at him, seeing the curious blend of the fearless fourteen year old who’d become the center of Michael’s world from the first day they met, and the thirty-something man who’d endured a lifetime of hurt and betrayal at the hands of those who claimed to love him. He was the epitome of success in so many ways, so completely fucked up in others. The last year had taken a toll on him, yet somehow he wore it well. She huffed out another puff of smoke – only Brian could go through cancer and radiation and be more heartbreakingly beautiful at the other end of it. He was stubborn and willful and a Class-A prick at times, but also smart and generous and brave and she loved him like a second son. She knew she was one of the very few people on the planet who could hurt him, and for once she treaded carefully. She offered the joint back to him and waited for him to meet her eyes again before she continued. “Only he didn’t. You and he just made different choices, that’s all. It doesn’t mean that you don’t still love each other.”

Brian shrugged, all the conviction gone from his voice.

“He won’t talk to me.”

“Then you talk to _him._ ”

*~*~*

**Justin**

Justin stood in front of his painting trying to decide if losing his mind in the middle of the gallery would increase or decrease the value of his work. Regardless, if just one more person made one more inane comment like ‘I don’t know art, but I know what I like’, or ‘how surprising to see such intense work from someone so young’, there were going to be little bits of Justin Taylor’s brains all over the floor because his head was going to fucking explode. It was bad enough coming from the truly unaware – hearing it from a supposedly-sophisticated and influential art critic made his teeth itch. And the pretentious fuck was still talking!

“So what made you want to be an artist?”

Justin smiled sweetly at him. “It was that or be a mass murderer.” It was worth the tremendous effort it took to laugh, if only to see the barely concealed look of surprise on the cunty art critic’s face. There was an awkward pause while he considered Justin and then grudgingly laughed along. Justin felt Lindsay suck a breath in beside him before joining in uneasily. Still, she was beside herself with excitement as he walked away.

“Did you hear what he said? Remember this moment!”

“What for? He’s a cunt.”

“A very influential cunt.”

“A cunt’s a cunt.”

Jesus Christ. Not his finest moment, really. Justin despised living up to his drama-princess reputation, and Lindsay was genuinely excited for him. Not to mention, she was right - Simon Caswell was influential and it took a lot of finesse on Lindsay’s part to get him to the Pitts. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful - it was just that he was having trouble seeing the bright side of things through the large, Brian-shaped hole in his life. Besides, as fucked up as his situation was at the moment, hers was infinitely worse, a point driven home as Mel and her new friend from the Stop Prop 14 task force joined them. Their words were for Justin, but their show was for Lindsay’s benefit, holding hands and laughing – dismissing Lindsay with a casual nod and a tip of the wineglass as they wandered away. Jesus Christ.

Justin knew Brian had arrived before he saw him. Brian might be ‘Rage’, but when it came right down to it, JT had a few super powers of his own. He could hear the lazy shuffle of three hundred dollar shoes on the marble floors. He smelled the unmistakable blend of spice and smoke and sex that was Brian Kinney, as familiar to him as his own name; knew without a doubt that when he glanced sideways, he would be there. If there was any comfort to be found in the knowledge, it was that at least Brian couldn’t catch him unaware. Not that it mattered – seeing him again after any length of time apart always brought Justin’s heart rate up, always made the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up, always quickened his breath just a little. Always. Every fucking time.

“Art openings are always such gay occasions.”

Justin let out the breath he’d sucked in the moment he’d sensed Brian and wasn’t aware he’d been holding, grateful for Lindsay’s attempt to buffer those first few, awkward seconds while he regained his equilibrium. Brian was the last person he’d expected to see tonight. Their last few encounters had been... strange - both of them walking away feeling uneasy - unfinished. Lindsay had asked him before inviting Brian and he’d said yes, but Brian had turned her down anyway with a rather resounding _‘are you out of your fucking mind?’_ when she’d told him that Michael and Ben would also be there. It occurred to him that the last time Brian had shown up somewhere he said he wouldn’t, the party ended with him punching Michael in the face. And that was when they had still been _friends._ Fuck. Justin swallowed that memory along with the last of his wine and looked sideways at him.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Neither was I.”

Huh. No innuendo-filled comeback. Funny. He didn’t look drunk. They both turned to the large canvas on the wall.

“That it?”

“You like it?”

“If I did, would that make it good?”

Ah. There he was. Shit. “No.”

“Would it make you like it more or less?”

Double shit – he could see the edge of the cliff from here. “No.”

“Would it make you rich?”

Asshole. Don’t do it. “No.”

“Then why would you give a shit what I think?”

Too close to the edge now. He could practically feel Brian’s hand on the small of his back.

“I think it’s exquisite. You should be very proud.”

Fuck but it always hurt, no matter how softly he landed. He followed Brian’s gaze as he sized up a tall, dark-haired dose of pain management before turning blasé hazel eyes back on him. The words he used to push him off were classic Kinney, skillfully chosen for maximum thrust.

“It’s been a long time since I fucked an artsy type.”

Brian turned and followed his prey without realizing that this time, Justin was still there. Still standing. Maybe after all this time he’d finally learned how to navigate Mt. Kinney.

Still, what the fuck? Justin wasn’t blind. Every time he’d seen him lately, Brian had been, well, odd was the only word he could think of. Aloof, but not in his usual ‘I’m Brian Kinney. Deal with it.’ way. He was unfailingly polite. Friendly, even - and Jesus, wasn’t that a sign of the apocalypse? Brian Kinney and Justin Taylor had been many things in the five years they’d known each other, but friends was not one of them. Frankly, a friendly Brian scared the shit out of him.

And pissed him off. They were more than that. No matter what they’d gone through there was a connection between them that had never waned. Not when three months in L.A. turned into six, not when he’d thrown him out in a fear-induced moment of madness last year, not even during the Ethan fiasco. There had always been the sense that Brian was indulging him – giving him his lead and allowing him to run unfettered, but somehow knowing that in the end, Brian and Justin were inevitable. A force of nature. This felt different. Each time they met he felt that connection, that invisible thread that bound them together unravel a little more.

This scared the shit out of him, because this? Felt an awful lot like Brian letting go.

And yet tonight he’d felt the need to shove him off a cliff again. Why? Justin snatched a glass of wine from a passing waiter and downed half of it, determined to banish the knot of frustration (pain) that was closing his throat. Instead he only succeeded in washing it down, into his belly where it sat like (fear) a cold stone. The second half of the glass didn’t do anything to ease it, so he grabbed another, looking around the room for something, _anything,_ to focus on (why?) that wasn’t Brian Fucking Kinney. Fuck him (I love him).

His mother’s boy-toy was looking at one of his paintings. What kind of name was ‘Tucker’ anyway? Justin’s eyes narrowed and his lips curved into a smile that was quite the opposite of sunshine. He walked over to stand beside him.

“Let me guess. You don’t know art, but you know what you like.”

*~*~*

**Brian**

Fuck. That was so not what he came here for. Tonight was only supposed to be about Michael - he wasn’t even going to let Justin know he was here. Soon. But not tonight. The plan was to get in, talk some sense into Michael, and get out, all with a minimum of bullshit.

Yet when he’d seen him there with Lindsay he could tell even from all the way across the room that something was off. There was probably some sort of scientific explanation involving pheromones and hind-brains that could account for the fact that he always knew when something was wrong with Justin Taylor. Whatever the fuck it was, it never failed. Granted, he might not always act on the knowledge, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew. There really was no reasonable explanation for why he found himself compelled to go over there and fix it though.

“Fuck me." And now Justin was watching him so he had to make small talk with this guy until he was sure he’d changed that look from unhappy to pissed. Pissed off Justin was so much easier on the conscience.

And... there it was. He watched Justin stew for a moment, then stalk over to... Trevor? Tipper? Whateverthefuck, he made a mental note to congratulate Jennifer for snagging such a fine young piece of ass. It was nice to know at least one of the Taylor’s had learned something from him. Brian almost felt sorry for him, having been on the receiving end of a self-righteous Justin Taylor hissy fit himself a time or two. A burst of raucous laughter and cheers of _‘Mazel Tov’_ drew his attention away from the duo. Timmy would just have to deal on his own – he had bigger princesses to contend with.

Debbie was the only one of the group to fully understand the import of the moment when Brian interrupted Teddy’s Tales of the Yeshiva.

“Can I borrow you?” Brian pulled Michael out of the small circle of friends and off to a quieter corner.

*~*~*

He wondered if it had always been like this. The thumpa-thumpa pulsed, forever young. But if you really listened, you could hear the lament behind it – the sound of time marching on. The dazzling glitter that fell like multi-colored rain on the writhing mass of bodies below was really just bits of cellophane and foil to be swept up in the morning along with the used condoms and the phone numbers of those who didn’t quite measure up.

_“I’m a cocksucker. I’m queer. And to anyone who takes pity or offense I say, judge yourself. This is where I live. This is who I am.”_

The mirrored balls that spun over his head were where he first glimpsed the life he was destined to live – one with a maximum of pleasure and a minimum of bullshit. No apologies. No regrets. But now when the light hit them at just the right angle, he saw a different reflection.

_“I know you can’t give me those things.”_

_“Not ‘can’t’. Can’t implies that I’m incapable. It’s that I won’t.”_

_“Why are we still doing this if we both know it’s never going to work?”_

_“Damned if I know.”_

Little fucker had already had his bags packed.

The strobes and spotlights and lasers cast a surreal light over everyone and everything in their path, hiding the blemishes and wrinkles, the scars that lingered just below the surface. There were no imperfections in their glow – those only showed up in the light of day.  
 _  
"Just because we’ve been friends our whole lives doesn’t mean we have to stay friends. Especially since we no longer have anything in common. So why don’t we just admit that the Brian and Mikey show is over and get on with our lives."_

When the glitter really was diamonds and the spotlights were telling the truth, Mikey would have walked in right about now. He’d have spotted Brian up on the catwalk and his heart would’ve done that little flip-flop thing it had done since he was fourteen years old and he would have come to him.  
 _  
“Surprised to see you here.”_

_“I wanted to ask you a question. Why did you apologize?”_

_“I guess I miss you.”_

_“You still love me?”_

_“Always have. Always will.”_

Maybe it really was all smoke and mirrors. Maybe he just needed to open his eyes. Fuck.

Babylon. Like its namesake, it would last forever, if only in legend. Of course if the Prop 14 zealots got their way the place would be a Starbucks and a Baby Gap by the end of the year. He snorted at that. “Over my cold, dead body.” He still couldn’t believe Michael had had the balls to come and ask him for the club to hold their Queer Fest. Maybe he’d raised him right after all.

He tossed back the last of the JB in his glass and had barely set it down when the bartender was there, ready to refill it. Brian waved him off and took the bottle from him instead. Jason had worked for him long enough to interpret the raised eyebrow as the _‘I don’t pay you to talk’_ it was, and since he valued his job, kept his comments to himself. “I’m not here,” was all Brian said, and headed for his office. He shut the door behind him, leaned back against it for a moment and let out a long breath. When he realized he was actually enjoying the reprieve his soundproof walls offered from the thumpa thumpa, he straightened up quickly, with a slightly scornful laugh and a muttered 'Fuck. Me.' Brian Kinney didn’t need peace and quiet at Babylon. Of course he didn’t open the door again, either.

He poured himself two fingers of Beam and sipped at it while he looked around his office. How different it was from the Sap’s time. Gone was the mismatched collection of cheap, discount store furniture, sleazy, hard-core photos and ancient, come-stained carpet. When Brian took over the club the first thing he’d done was gut the office and now it was a classy, sparely decorated space. All chrome and glass and leather, cool, sleek, sexy – a reflection of its occupant. He stood in front of the artwork Justin had given him on his return from L.A. It was an original story board he’d drawn for the last scene of Rage! The Movie.  Rage held a recovered JT in his arms, still bloodied, but alive thanks to Rage and his magical powers. He’d drawn and painted it all by hand and the details were almost too much for Brian. He reached out and touched the spot where the scar should be.

Justin.

_“I wish I could remember.”_

_“I wish I could forget.”_

Brian turned away from the image. It belonged in a past he couldn’t change. No apologies, no regrets. He still believed that. He did. Because you only had to regret something if you wanted to change it, if you _could_ change it, and didn’t. He moved to another, less beautiful piece of art on the wall and swung it open. He spun the small dial on the safe, drew out a file folder of papers and sat down at his desk. Each item in it was carefully considered and there was only one more thing to add.

Brian took a long swallow from his drink and powered up his laptop. He opened up his email account and navigated to the Drafts file. He’d had the email written for days now, waiting. Fuck, waiting for what? For another phone call in the middle of the night? Another doctor to tell him that this time the odds weren’t so good? For another swing of a baseball bat? He typed the name into the address bar, jennifer.taylor@jacksonrealty.com and hit send. When that was done, Brian brought up another email, this one from his lawyer, and double clicked on the attachment. He hesitated only a moment and then sent it to the printer.

While he waited, and before he could be the chicken-shit he knew he was, he pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed-dial number two. As he listened to it ring he realized that the music had stopped and looked at his watch. Shit. Nearly 3 a.m. Of course it went to voicemail, so he gritted his teeth through the pathetic greeting and dutifully waited for the beep.

“Hey. It’s me...”

*~*~*

**Ben**

“I can’t believe he’s _giving_ us the club.”

Ben unwound the scarf from Michael’s neck and pulled him forward with it until they were nose to nose. “Really? You can’t?” He loved his husband with all his heart, but sometimes he really was a self-centered little shit. Brian Kinney could be the most arrogant, selfish asshole on the planet when the mood struck him, but in the few years he’d been a part of this fucked up little family he’d never known him not to do the right thing when push came to shove. Mel and Lindsay’s wedding; the whole Stockwell affair. Hell, he’d pretty much single-handedly saved Teddy, first from Stockwell’s crusaders and later, from himself. When they’d first met, all Mikey could talk about was Brian – how he’d turned a miserable existence in high school into the best years of his life. How he’d helped them keep the house when Vic got really sick and his mother couldn’t take more than a few shifts a week at the diner. Of course all Deb knew was that Mikey was doing really well at the Big Q. And the Liberty Ride. Vic Grassi House. Christ, there wouldn’t even be a hospice if not for Brian. He was a generous, loving father to Gus, even if it was from a distance, and though Michael would likely never forgive him for it, he’d stood up for Lindsay during the fight over J.R. when nobody else would. So it wasn’t difficult at all to believe that he donated his club to the cause. Not because he believed in it, but because _they_ did.

Ben kissed him on the forehead and then on the ear, wrapping his arms around the slight shoulders. “He’s a good man, Michael. You need to forgive him.”

Michael leaned back and looked him in the face again. “He doesn’t want my forgiveness. He only wants to mock me and...” Ben silenced him with another kiss.

Logic said Ben should at the least be jealous of Brian, if not hate his guts outright. Somewhere deep in his heart he knew that even now, if Brian really, truly wanted him, nobody else in the world would have a shot at Michael’s heart. He doubted even Michael believed that any more, but it was the truth. And the fact was, Brian knew it too. What allowed Ben not to hate him, in fact to even respect him, was his absolute faith that Brian would never betray that. Michael’s secret identity was safe.

“He apologized, didn’t he? What more do you want?”

Michael’s forehead crinkled in disgust. “I can’t believe you’re defending him to me. You heard what he said. He called me a defector, a traitor. He didn’t apologize for that, he was giving me permission to be a ‘Stepford fag’. Well fuck him.”

“Michael.”

“Ben.”

“He gave us the club.”

“And I said thank you. That’s enough.”

*~*~*  
 **  
Brian**

He checked his voice mail for the third time. Goddamn. Hit the intercom on his desk. “Cynthia!” She came around the corner with a murderous look on her face.

“You barked?”

“Have I had any messages?”

She looked pointedly from him to the empty giant chrome paperclip on his desk where she’d been putting his messages for what seemed like the last hundred years, then back at him again.

“Fine. Whatever.” He ran his fingers through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where the fuck is Theodore?”

Cynthia bit her tongue - quite literally – and it wasn’t lost on her boss.

He blew out a short sound of disgust, but changed his tone nevertheless. “Would you kindly locate my erstwhile accountant for me?” She arched an eyebrow and he very nearly laughed. “Please?”

“Erstwhile?” Ted materialized in the doorway behind Cynthia. “What did I get fired for this time?” His mornings were really never complete until Brian had fired him at least once. Occasionally, he liked to know the reasons.

Brian stuck his tongue in his cheek and scrutinized him thoroughly before he answered. “Give me a few minutes. I’ll think of something.”

He sat down in his chair and tented his fingers, considering his two most trusted employees carefully. “I’m going to be out of the office for a few days.” They had long since learned to bide their time with Brian. There was almost always more. “Possibly longer.” Both were also practiced at keeping their expressions neutral. Ted knew about his trip to Sydney. Cynthia knew it too and also knew what the ‘possibly longer’ meant, but she had also learned a long time ago that when it came to her boss, discretion was not only the better part of valor, it was paramount to keeping her job. “Cynthia, make sure I don’t have anything scheduled for the next couple weeks that can’t be changed if necessary.” He picked up a stack of boards from the corner of his desk and thrust them at her. “These are for shit. Tell those fuckwits in Creative that if they don’t have something I can sell Remson on my desk by the time I get back, they can just leave their balls there instead.” He turned to Ted.

“Yes, oh Mighty One?” Ted bent slightly at the hips and folded his hands together. “What would you have me do?”

Brian sighed. “Just try not to get arrested.”

When they were both gone he scrawled a few more notes on files and made a couple of phone calls. By lunchtime, all his Kinnetik business was taken care of. He cleared his desk of clutter and sat back in his chair – only one more thing left to do. He reached into his brief case and took out the thick envelope with Justin’s name on it. He turned it over in his fingers a few times – cautiously, as though it were dangerous goods. Then again, he supposed, it was. He set it down and reached for his Mac, then reconsidered and took a sheet of paper out of the box of ridiculously expensive stationery he reserved for special clients. It didn’t take him long to write the note – there was really only so much he could say. He read it over once, then folded it up and put it in the envelope.

He went around shutting off the lights and couldn’t help but smirk when he reached the floor lamp beside the sofa. It had been there when he returned from ‘Ibiza’ and to this day he’d never heard a word about it. And as far as he could recall he never signed a check for it, either. He pulled his lips into his teeth and switched it off as he headed out the door – maybe he wouldn’t fire her today after all.

*~*~*

“Catch, Daddy!” Gus flung the miniature football at him with a force that took Brian by surprise.

“Whoa, Sonnyboy!” He tossed it back and smiled at Gus’s delighted squeal when he caught it. He ran off to play with his little friends and Brian felt as though he was watching him grow bigger with every step he took away from them.

“When did he learn to throw like that?”

Lindsay answered without taking her eyes off Gus. “About six months ago.”

Damn. “I must have been working.” That finally drew a glance from Lindsay, and a slightly wicked smile.

“Or something.”

Brian flinched, but only a little and not so she could see it. They walked a little further before he stepped in front of her and stopped so abruptly she would have knocked him over if he hadn’t taken her by the arms.

“Brian! What the fu...” It wasn’t her inclination not to swear in front of the kids that silenced her so much as the intensity with which Brian was staring at her. “Brian?”

“I want another chance, Lindsay. I want him to know who I am.”

“He will. He does.” But Brian was shaking his head.

“I don’t want him to forget me,” Brian said in a voice suddenly raw, so quiet, that at first Lindsay wasn’t sure she heard him right. And then she was suddenly very, very afraid that she had.

She reached up and brushed back the hair from his forehead, searching his eyes for a clue to what was going on. In his Prada suit and custom-made cashmere overcoat he was stunningly handsome – beautiful, really – so much it hurt to look at him sometimes. And yet there was something... “Brian,” she found she had to swallow hard to make her own voice work. “What’s wrong? Are you...is the cancer...is it...” She couldn’t complete the thought.

“No,” Brian huffed out the word, and let her go at the same time. He seemed to shake off whatever demon it was that had possessed him moments before and looked at her with his crooked smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not dying.” He put his tongue in his cheek and narrowed his eyes at her. “You’ll just have to wait a little longer to cash in on my insurance.”

Lindsay nearly sagged with relief, but recovered quickly and swatted him on the arm. “You shit! Don’t scare me like that ever again!” They both took a breath and sat down on the bench beside the path. “So what then?”

Brian shrugged. “I want to spend more time with him. You and Mel, you’re already splitting him two ways.” He looked down at her. “And Daddy makes three?” He snorted. “Fuck that, Lindsay. You two should do what munchers do and make nice. Shit’s gone on long enough.”

Lindsay laughed bitterly. “Not my call, Brian – Melanie has... moved on.” She blushed red even as she said it as the memory of their late night wrestling match flooded her thoughts. Brian’s eyebrow raised in question and Lindsay deflected it the most effective way she knew how. “What about you? What about Justin?” The best defense was still a good offense. It was fortunate that they were sitting, because Lindsay surely would have fallen over otherwise when Brian answered.

“I’m working on it.”

~*~*~

It wasn't quite dark enough to bring the streetlights on when he finally found him. It took him that long to get Lindsay to stop squealing long enough to get a location out of her.

_“He’ll be at the call center, I’m sure – they’re trying to contact all the people who bought tickets for the benefit to make sure they know about the location change.”_

A tall, attractive brunette was locking the doors just as Brian pulled up in front of the storefront the PA Anti-Prop 14 Initiative was using as headquarters and from what Brian could see, the place looked empty. Fuck! As the woman turned he recognized her as Mel’s date from the art gallery – and thank Christ! – she remembered him as well.

_“Justin left a little while ago with a bunch of location change notices for the posters. I’m sure he can’t have gotten too far.”_

It wasn’t the exact streetlamp he’d found him under all those years ago, but Christ, it was close enough. Justin stood beneath it, pasting a ‘NOW AT BABYLON’ sticker over the poster that was stapled to the pole and Brian’s dick twitched in a primal response to an unbidden memory. It was frozen breath that swirled around him now, instead of warm mist; a confident, grown man where a cocky seventeen year old had stood and practically dared him to take him home and fuck him. Five years and nearly both their lifetimes ago, and Brian could still recall the taste of Justin on his tongue that very first time. Jesus Christ. How the fuck had that happened? Brian Kinney did not remember tricks the next day – never mind five years later. And then Justin turned in the light and saw him, and smiled. Oh yeah. Right. That’s how.

Brian rolled down the window as Justin approached the car.

“So, you’re back working the streets.”

“Thanks to you. You coming?”

“Why, in your wildest homosexual fantasies, would you imagine I would attend such an event?”

“You gave Michael the club.”

“How could I say no to my oldest and dearest friend?”

“And it is to protect the rights of every gay person in the state. Including yours.”

“Well they’ll have to fight the good fight without me. I’ll be tanning myself down under.” He smirked. “And perhaps a little on top.”

“You’re going to _Australia?”_

“They say Mardi Gras in Sydney’s the Gayest Place on Earth. Except of course for Disney Land.”

Silence stretched out between them. Brian shifted in his seat and felt the weight of the envelope in his breast pocket press against his chest.

“Well. Take care of yourself.” He heard himself say the words from somewhere outside his head.

“You too.” Justin turned to go.

Wait! The fuck? “Justin, wait!!”

He turned back toward the car and Brian slid the envelope out of his coat and handed it out the window to him. Justin took it by reflex, not even really looking at it except to note his name written on the front.

“What’s this?” He watched while Brian appeared to be having some kind of silent argument with himself. It was far too interesting to walk away from, so he waited.

Right up until this moment Brian still hadn’t decided how to do this. He was a brilliant ad man – a genius some would say. Making people want things they didn’t need had made him a rich man. So gifted in the art of persuasion, yet when it was really important, when it would mean everything, he had no fucking idea how to make it work.

“Brian? What is this?”

He looked up into the familiar blue eyes and for one brief, lesbianic moment that he would deny to the grave, he wished he was Rage – that he could just use his powers of mind control to make Justin understand, to make him feel everything he had to tell him. To just _know._ Shit. It was all there in his hands – everything that he could offer him. It was up to Justin now to decide if it was enough. The one thing Brian couldn’t do is hear him say no.

“It’s... everything.” He started the car and put it in gear, looking up at Justin one more time as he pulled away from the curb. “Later.”

*~*~*

**Michael**

_To save this message, press 1. To repeat this message, press 2._

Michael pressed ‘2’ for the third time in a row but this time he handed the phone over to Ben.

“He is fucking _unbelievable!”_

Ben held the phone to his ear, and he had to admit that it was pretty fucking unbelievable. Michael had forgotten his phone at the store (again) so he was just now listening to his messages. The one from Brian had come in close to 3:00 a.m. so he could have written it off as Brian being drunk or high or both, except that he sounded stone cold sober.

_“Hey, it’s me. When the fuck did you get ‘Rage’ to record your greeting?” He could hear Brian’s sneer right through the phone. “You are soooo pathetic, Mikey.” But then he laughed. And then he stopped. “No, actually you’re not pathetic at all.” There was a long pause and then, “Fuck me, Michael. You behaved like an asshole. I behaved like a bigger one.” The sound of a lighter clicked and then another pause and a long exhale. “What happened between us – well, sorry’s bullshit and I’m not going to say it so you can just fucking forget that. You’re my best friend, and I need you. So stop being a princess and fucking call me.”_

As he listened, Ben watched Michael and though his husband was trying for righteous indignation, his eyes glinted with a light that hadn’t been there in quite some time. He listened for the option to save the message, then did so. Without a word he pressed the number two speed dial and handed the phone back to Michael.

“Ben!” Michael protested but it was without conviction. He was almost relieved when the machine picked up – he needed a little time to regroup. Brian’s greeting was typical Kinney-speak.

_“Leave me a message.”_

“Hey, it’s me. I, uh, got your message.” He snorted, picturing Brian’s eye roll at that. “I guess you probably figured that out already, you being a college graduate and all. Anyway. It’s 5:00 and we’re heading over to Babylon to make sure everything is set up for tonight. Are you going to be there? We could... talk.” Ben smiled at him, nodding his head approvingly. Michael smiled, too. “Anyway, so yeah. Call me.”

*~*~*

**Justin**

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, but it was long after the Corvette’s taillights faded from view. Fucking Christ! What the hell? He searched through his memory banks but try as he might he couldn’t recall anything in the Kinney Operating Manual that covered this. He was pretty sure it would have fallen under the heading of ‘What to do when Brian loses his shit’. He looked down at the envelope Brian had given him. It was thick, heavy in his hands. ‘Justin Taylor’ was printed neatly in the center of it. He was tempted to tear it open right there on the sidewalk, but something told him that he was going to want to be sitting down when he did that. The venue banners forgotten, he started walking, instinctively heading for the diner without even being aware of it. _‘It’s everything.’_   What the hell? _‘Everything.’_ Suddenly his need to know was overwhelming and his footsteps fell faster until he was practically running. He flung the diner door open and prayed that the back booth would be empty and that Debbie would not be working. One out of two wasn’t bad.

“Sunshine!”

“Hey, Deb.” Justin blew by her and threw himself, out of breath and sweating, into the booth. His hands were shaking and he was deeply regretting not going somewhere he could have a drink. He laid the envelope on the table and shrugged out of his coat and scarf. Elbows on the table, he put his head in his hands and just stared at it. Jesus Christ! Now that he had a minute to think about it, the possibilities of what could be in there terrified him. Brian had been so strange lately, the encounter at the gallery notwithstanding. What if... Jesus, no. Please not that. He might have moaned that last bit out loud, because suddenly Debbie was across the table from him, her face full of concern. She set the coffee pot in her hand down and leaned in.

“Sunshine, what’s wrong?”

Justin looked up at her and the words came out before he could stop himself. “It’s Brian.” Shit.

“What did the asshole do now?”

Justin winced – he loved Debbie and he knew Debbie loved Brian, but it pissed him off that her first inclination was always to blame him whenever it seemed blame could be laid. He tried to keep his voice neutral. “He didn’t do anything, Deb. At least... I don’t think he did.” Please, God, I hope he didn’t. He picked up the envelope again, but gingerly, as though it was hot and might burn him. “I think... maybe there’s something wrong.”

Debbie was instantly contrite. “Why, baby? What’s happened?” Justin looked from her to the envelope then back at her again.

“He gave me this.” Justin actually stammered, something he hadn’t done in years. “I..I have no idea what it is.” Debbie covered one of his hands with hers and cupped his face with the other.

“Sunshine, I’m sure he’s alright.” She smiled, “He’s Brian Kinney for fuck’s sake. Why don’t you open it and find out?” Justin nodded and blinked a couple times. Fucking allergies.

“Thanks, Deb. Could I... would you mind?”

“Sure, baby. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.” She patted his face and ruffled his hair and poured him a cup of coffee before she left him sitting there, just him and the envelope.

Justin turned it over in his fingers again, examining it from all sides. He wanted to open it. Badly. But then he also didn’t want to, because then whatever was in there would get out. And if it got out, then it would be true. And if Brian was sick again... if Brian was... No. There just wasn’t an acceptable scenario in which it would be okay that Brian Kinney wasn’t in his world. He didn’t have to be in his life – he could handle that. But he had to know that Brian was there. Somewhere.

He’d done the right thing leaving, he knew that. He needed more. Not wedding rings or little pink houses with white picket fences. Hell, he didn’t even need a dog and 2.3 children. He just needed... more. But at this moment all he really needed was Brian to walk in and tell him not to be such a pathetic little twat and open the fucking envelope already. Justin sniffled loudly and scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. Fine! He slid his finger under the flap and pulled out the contents all at once.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

There was almost too much to process. An airline ticket. His passport (shit, he’d forgotten that was in Brian’s safe). A printout of a real estate listing. In fucking West Virginia? And Justin was no lawyer, but he was pretty fucking sure that this one was a copy of a deed. With both their names on it. Christ. Another legal document he couldn’t begin to wrap his mind around. On top of it all was a neatly folded sheet of expensive-looking note paper. He recognized Brian’s handwriting instantly though he could barely read it, because his hands were shaking so much it was blurring the paper. But read it he did.

> ****  
>  _Justin,_   
> 
> 
> **_I may never do the matching Vera Wang’s, but I can do the country manor. Maybe I’ll even let you put a lock on the door._**
> 
> **_Oh, and I’m selling the club. Maybe Mother Taylor can buy you a trousseau with her commission._**
> 
> ****  
>  _You asked me once why we were still together. I finally thought of one good reason.  I’d like the chance to tell you what it is._   
> 
> 
> ****  
>  _Our (???) flight is at 10:00. The car service will pick you up at eight and I will be in the Sky Club._   
> 
> 
> ****  
>  _Brian_   
> 
> 
> **  
>  _By the way... If you are worried about clothes, don’t. Sydney is the nude beach capital of Australia. Did you know that?_   
>  **

“Is everything alright, Sunshine?” Justin looked up at the sound of Debbie’s voice but only blinked. “Baby? Is Brian okay?” He opened and closed his mouth several times before he could actually make any sounds come out.

“Okay? Uhh. Uhhuh.” Justin nodded. He slid the documents back into the envelope and neatly folded the letter again, then slipped that in as well. He picked up the coffee that Deb had left him and sipped it carefully, set it back down, all with the same vaguely shell-shocked expression on his face. Debbie was seriously starting to freak out.

“Justin!” She all but grabbed him by the shirtfront. “What’s going on? What the fuck is all that?” As she watched, his face broke into the 10,000-watt smile that had earned him his nickname.

“It’s my future, Deb.”

*~*~*

**Brian**

Brian ran his hands through his hair and rinsed away the last traces of shampoo. He rolled his head side to side and let the water rain down on him in an attempt to release some of the tension out of his shoulders. The steamy air was still infused with the exotic scent of his imported body wash and he breathed deeply of it. Jesus, it felt like years since he'd been able to really relax. But maybe soon. Maybe tonight. Either way, he’d done all he could do. Christ! From the first time he had finally said ‘enough’ to Jack, his entire life had been about maintaining control. Who he let into his life, who he shut out. What tricks he fucked, what clients he took, what parts of his life he shared with other people. It was rather fucked up that his fate now rested with a capricious, blond twink twelve years his junior. It was _completely_ fucked up that somehow, he was okay with that. It was almost a relief to let it go. Oh yeah. Completely fucked. He stood under the pounding jets until the water started to cool then reluctantly shut it down and stepped out.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he toweled off and stepped up for a closer inspection. At 34 his body was still smooth, hard – perfect. His eyes dropped to the thin, red scar on his groin that ran parallel to the crease of his thigh. _Almost_ perfect. His hair was still thick and dark, his lips firm and supple, and if there were a few fine lines around his eyes now, well fuck, he’d earned them. Some people, okay most people, considered him vain and arrogant, but the truth was, nobody was more critical of Brian than Brian. People had been telling him he was beautiful for as long as he could remember. That wasn’t vanity – it was a fact. He had gorgeous bone structure, full lips, and wide, warm hazel eyes fringed with dark lashes. Genes, luck, what-the-fuck-ever, it was how he was born. But he worked hard to make the most of it, and if he was proud of that – well that was just too goddamn bad. Fuck anybody who couldn’t deal with it. He grinned at his reflection. Fabuloso, senor.

He hung up the towel and padded naked out to the living room to grab a smoke and a drink, and noticed the light blinking on his answering machine. One new message. He made a concerted effort not to care which one of them it was. He lit the cigarette and took a long drag before he pressed play.

_“Hey, it’s me...”_

Michael. Brian glanced over at the clock. Shit. By the time he got ready and out the door, there was no way he’d make it to Babylon and back in time for the car service to pick him up. Christ, he hated leaving the Corvette at the airport. He looked at the two suitcases and garment bag already standing at the door and tried to envision fitting them into the sports car. ‘Fucking Christ, Mikey. It’s a good thing I love you.’

*~*~*

**Jennifer**

“You knew about this? This...this... palace???" Justin sputtered. He slapped the printout down on the table in front of her. It wasn’t really a question. Of course she knew about it - her name was on the listing. Jennifer stared back at her son and shrugged.

“Justin, I...”

“Jesus, Mother. How could you not tell me?”

“Honey, it wasn’t my place to tell you.” Justin’s mouth twisted into the petulant frown that generally preceded a major ‘moment’. He opened it to start and Jennifer held a hand up. “Stop. You know I couldn’t tell you something like this. It’s my job, Justin, and Brian has a right to expect discretion from me.”

Justin picked up the fact sheet again – he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. He chewed on his lips for a minute, looking from the paper to his mother and back. He knew she was right, but still...

“God, Mom. It’s... fucking unbelievable.”

“Language, Justin.” The words came automatically to Jennifer – five years of life on Liberty Avenue hadn’t completely quashed her inner WASP. But she couldn’t really blame him. It was fucking unbelievable. When Brian had approached her about finding him a house, she very nearly declined. Leaving Brian had been devastating for Justin and she didn’t want to see him hurt any more than he already was. She certainly didn’t want to be part of it. Then Brian told her the rest of his plans and she realized two things. He loved Justin, and he was going to do this with or without her help.

It had taken her a long time to come around where Brian was concerned, and he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to win her over. Where some men would’ve hidden their darker side, Brian was brutally honest. He was a man without pretense, and at first, she’d admit, he had scared her just a little bit. Over time though, she’d seen him bring Justin back after the bashing, not by nursing him or coddling him, but by simply refusing to let him be anything less than the best he could be. She watched as he helped him become strong and confident again. Confident enough to leave him. Strong enough to win him back. They’d been through so much together in a few short years, and Brian had proven himself to be a much more complex, caring, _decent_ man than she ever thought possible the day she’d barged into his office five years ago and demanded he take care of her son. She was genuinely sorry they hadn’t been able to work things out. For two people who claimed not to ‘need’ vows, it seemed to her they’d already covered the important ones. In sickness and in health. For richer and poorer. It was those last couple that were their undoing. The ones that one couldn’t live with and the other couldn’t live without.

So when Brian had appeared in her office and announced he wanted her to find him a ‘palace for his prince’, her first inclination had been to call him a cab, because a man in his condition surely shouldn’t be driving. Once he convinced her that there were no illicit drugs involved in his decisions, she had taken his list of requirements and proceeded to find him a beautiful home just outside of the city that met every one of them. It wasn’t quite a palace, but it was as close to a dream home as anybody could have asked for. Of the criteria he’d given her – pool, tennis court, stables – the most important one was availability, and this place was unoccupied. The owner was unwell and the West Virginia winter proved too much, so they’d left the property for sale and moved to Arizona. He could move in as soon as escrow closed. There was just one, small detail remaining.

She took another look at her son, still staring at the fact sheet in his hand. She knew about the rest of it as well, the things he hadn’t shown her, but nothing short of thumbscrews would persuade her to admit to that. The email had been waiting for her when she arrived at the office this morning – he’d decided to move forward with the sale of the club. Though Justin hadn’t shown her, she also knew about the papers he’d had drawn up. Those, more than any mansion he could offer, would be what brought Justin home to him if anything could. The trip was news to her though. She had to give the man credit, he had style. And balls. So to speak. She hoped for both their sakes that his gamble paid off. Justin had been known to bridle when he felt that Brian was taking him for granted. She said a little prayer that he could see it for what it was.

She reached out and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, as much for herself as for him.

“Honey, what are you going to do?”

The words popped into Justin’s mind like a ghost from the past. He could practically feel the wind in his hair, see the lights of Liberty Avenue blinking by them, feel Brian’s warm breath on his neck as he pressed into him in the back seat of the Jeep. Words that changed the course of his life. The only possible words he could say. Then, now. Ever.

“I’m going with him.”

*~*~*


	2. Part Two

**Michael**

“Guys, this is Lewis. We met on husbandmaterial dot com.” Both men shook his hand, and Ted went on enthusiastically. “Lewis – this is Michael and Ben. They got married last year in Canada!”

“You could be next,” Michael gushed, though it looked more like Lewis would be next to throw up on his shoes, not walk down the aisle. Ted caught the look and quickly came to his new beau’s rescue.

“Lewis isn’t very good with crowds. He came early to get used to the place before the hordes descend.” Lewis visibly blanched and Ted rubbed his shoulders affectionately. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Great, glad to have the help.” Michael unwound his scarf and slipped off his jacket and took Ben’s as well, and turned back to Ted. “I’m going to put these in Brian’s office.” There were some perks to being best friends with the owner, after all.

“Sure, let me get the key.”

Michael’s eyebrows went up. “Brian’s not here?”

Ted gave him an odd look, but then laughed and shook his head and headed for the office. It still amazed Michael how close Brian and Ted had become, how much Brian trusted him, despite the finely tuned insults he hurled at him at every opportunity. Affection, Brian Kinney style. He followed Ted through the tables and displays of items for the silent auction that had already been set up. The benefit didn’t officially start until six, but there were already quite a few people there. Fortunately for them, another perk of friendship with Brian meant that they had prime spots reserved for the concert later on. Right up front for Cyndi Fucking Lauper!

Ted unlocked the door and waited while Michael threw their coats on the cream leather Calcutta chaise that took up most of one wall. “Find me later when you’re ready to go and I’ll unlock this for you again.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure Brian will let me back in.” Michael smiled somewhat smugly to himself – clearly Brian didn’t share everything with his new best friend.

“Brian?” Ted chuckled. “Don’t you think that’ll be a little difficult from 35,000 feet?” Michael had that look he got sometimes – like somebody had asked him what  235 x 17 was and he was trying to figure it out in his head. “In the air?” Still nothing. “Michael, Brian is on his way to Sydney. Gay Mardi Gras?” Ted did a little hip swing for emphasis, hands raised in the air.

“What? No, he left me a message...”

Yesterday. Brian left him a message yesterday and he hadn’t called him back until this afternoon. Fuck. He thought about calling his cell phone but there was no point now. Brian would only laugh and tell him he was pathetic – he could do that in person when he got back. Michael laughed a little self-consciously, and called Brian an asshole just for good measure, then the two of them headed back out for the party.

*~*~*

 **Justin**

Justin cleared a spot on his tiny, second-hand kitchen table, pushing aside jars of paint and soaking brushes and spread the papers out. He just couldn’t seem to stop touching them – if he could touch them, then they must be real. He tried to reconcile the Brian Kinney he knew with was he was looking at. Every conversation they’d ever had about it attested to the fact that this wasn’t Brian. That is if you could call listening to his _‘I believe in fucking, not love; marriage is an imitation heterosexual union doomed to fail’_ mantra a conversation. But that wasn’t what he was offering, was it? Justin picked up the legal document, the one he hadn’t shown his mother. Jesus Christ. It wasn’t marriage – it was just what Brian said it was. Everything.

Everything Justin wanted, everything he’d been willing to walk away from the only man he ever truly loved for. A home, a commitment, but most importantly a future. Together, partners, in the truest sense of the word. He’d been trying to tell Brian for months that he didn’t need a ceremony or rings, or even monogamy. What he needed was to know that they were at least headed for the same destination, if not always on the same road. Some acknowledgement that he mattered to Brian, as much as Brian mattered to him. That when Brian looked at his life ten, twenty, fifty years down the road, he saw Justin being part of it. He wasn’t naïve – some people, shit, _most_ people never achieved that. All he really wanted was to take that leap of faith, and for Brian to be willing to jump with him. He glanced at his note again. _‘I finally thought of one good reason.’_ Maybe he’d been listening after all.

Justin realized he was probably crazy for even considering it – he had a thousand reasons to be skeptical, but they pretty much all paled in the light of the one good reason he had to take a chance on him. In the time he’d known him, Brian had protected him, defended him, supported, and in his own way, loved him. He had also screamed at him, ignored him, rejected him, fucked him, and thrown him off a cliff. Twice. But the one thing Brian had never done was lie to him, and this didn’t feel like one now. Justin traced his finger over their names on the document and couldn’t help smiling. It was so over the top, so completely audacious – and so totally Brian Kinney. The man was the king of grand gestures, of letting actions and deeds say the things he couldn’t say himself. This message was loud and clear and Justin owed it to Brian to at least hear him out. _“You are so full of shit, Taylor.”_ Justin shook his head, laughing at himself – like saying ‘no’ was ever really an option. He had loved Brian Kinney since the first moment he saw him, and he was offering him everything.

Justin gathered up the papers again and put all of them save the airline ticket and his passport back in the envelope. He looked around his charmless little apartment for a place he could keep them safe, and found it sorely lacking. For want of a better idea, he stuffed them in the cardboard box full of papers in the bottom of his closet – the universal filing cabinet. He stood up and began searching through the clothes hanging in the meager space. What did one wear to Mardi Gras, anyway?

*~*~*

 **Brian**

“Yes, Jim, as I said...” Feldman cut him off with more inane concerns about his campaign as Brian drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and silently ticked off the myriad ways he could have him murdered. Maybe he could get a two-for-one deal since clearly somebody at his office was going to die for giving this fuckwit his cell phone number. “Jim... Jim! I’m telling you, this campaign is genius. I’d bet my bal... my reputation on it.” Finally, it seemed the man was listening to reason if the silence on the other end was anything to go by and Brian seized the moment. “I’ll have Cynthia call and set up lunch for us when I get back in town. Trust me, you’re going to love it.” He flipped the phone shut and took a deep breath. Fuckwit. Feldman had called as Brian was getting ready to leave for Babylon, and proceeded to harangue him the whole time he was loading his suitcases into the car, while he set the alarm and locked the loft, and for a good twenty minutes after he got in the car. By the time he pulled up in front of Babylon, the air was pulsing with the beat of the evening’s entertainment and it seemed like every fabulous fag in Pittsburgh had shown up for the event if the jam-packed street was anything to go by. Fortunately, he had a private parking space and it had better by-the-Christ be empty.

He pulled around back and parked the Corvette in front of the ‘Reserved. B.Kinney’ sign, under which somebody had so thoughtfully written, ‘so fuck off’ in black marker. Brian pinched the top of his nose in frustration; the idea of wading through the who’s who of Pittsburgh’s queer-loving society to find Mikey made his head hurt. It had nothing to do with being afraid he might see one particular beautiful blond in that crowd.

Fuck it. Michael could fucking well come to him. He took out his phone as he searched for his key to the back entrance. If he’d been just a little faster he might have even heard it ringing quite uselessly in Michael’s coat pocket on the chaise in his office. As it was, he very nearly launched the phone at the wall as the voice of ‘Rage’ told him to leave a message, but he managed to resist the urge and let himself in the building while he waited for it to finish. Normally there would be at least a few guys taking advantage of the dimly lit hallway, but tonight was a special event, so there was only the bouncer stationed just inside for extra security. Brian nodded to him as he passed.

“Fuck you, Michael. The point of having a cell phone is to answer the fucking thing. I am on my way to my office – you have five minutes before I’m out of here.” He headed first for the bar – at least he could have a drink for his troubles. The music was loud and he had to admit it sounded pretty good. Maybe he didn’t need to spend the money on that new sound system after all.

 _You can shine, I won’t deny you.  
And don’t be afraid, it’ll all be okay.  
It’ll all be okay.  
You can shine.  
Shine.  
Shine._

*~*~*

 **Justin**

As promised, the Town Car pulled up in front of his building at precisely 8:00 p.m. Justin felt the strangest urge to look in front of it for six tiny mice. Instead he opened the door and threw his bag in ahead of him before climbing in. The driver pulled away from the curb before glancing in the mirror.

“Good evening, sir. Your flight is on time.”

Justin smiled at the ‘sir’ and nodded. “Thanks.”

“Traffic’s fairly light tonight – should take about twenty five minutes. Mind if I put the radio on?”

Justin nodded his consent, and bit his lip. This first leg of the flight was to San Francisco, but they still had to check in through International. Then he remembered Brian’s executive club membership and relaxed. He debated calling to let him know he was coming, even went as far as pulling up the number on his cell, but the idea of seeing Brian’s face when he walked into the airport lounge was just too appealing. He felt himself getting hard just thinking about it.

Instead, he grabbed the complimentary newspaper that was folded up on the seat beside him and flipped through it, humming softly to the song on the radio. He was trying to recall the name of the band when the music stopped, interrupted by the station’s jarring ‘News Alert’ sound-effect. Justin’s heart did an involuntary little flutter – nothing good ever followed a sound like that.  
 _  
‘This just in from WDBX News. There’s been an explosion at Babylon, the local gay club where a political fundraiser was underway tonight. Authorities fear there may be many injuries, possibly fatalities. Police say there’s no word yet as to the cause.’_

“Turn around.”

*~*~*

“Can’t you go any faster?”

“Sorry, Mr. Taylor, they must have the streets blocked off. Traffic is just crawling.”

Oblivious to the cold, Justin craned his head out the window and tried to see past the lineup of cars ahead of them. They weren’t more than six blocks from the club now and he could hear sirens wailing in the distance in the still night air. Jesus Christ, an explosion? How could that be? _‘...many injuries, possibly fatalities...’_ Justin’s mind recoiled from the words. God, everyone he knew was at the club. Debbie, Emmett, Michael and Ben, Teddy. His mother. Oh God, his mother. Justin swallowed the sob that was threatening to escape from his throat and took out his phone again. He’d been trying everybody since the announcement on the radio and nobody was answering, including Brian. He dialed his mother’s number again. As soon as her voicemail kicked in, Justin hung up and dialed Brian’s number. _“This is Kinney. Leave me a message.”_

“Damnit, Brian. Where are you? Have you heard about Babylon?” He had to have heard. The airport lounge was full of TV’s, the radio was broadcasting it every couple of minutes. They were close enough now that Justin could see the pulsing red and blue glow of the emergency vehicle lights. He fought the panic rising in his chest and tried to breathe. “Shit, Brian. It’s... god... you have to get back here. Call me!” Justin hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket. Fuck it. He hoisted his duffel bag onto his shoulder and grabbed his satchel off the seat. He caught the driver’s eye in the mirror. “Pull over here.” Justin was out on the street before the car fully stopped moving and he all but sprinted the last block to the club.

The scene on the street outside Babylon was... wrong. There just wasn’t any other way to describe it. Police cars, emergency response vehicles and fire engines were everywhere, while what seemed like hundreds of people milled around them like ants. Some covered in soot and ash, some bleeding, some trying to help in any way they could, some just watching like ghouls as rescue workers carried burned and broken victims out of the devastated building. For a moment, Justin, too, could only stare in disbelief. Through the din of sirens and radio dispatches and screams he could hear whispers of ‘hate’ and ‘vengeance’ and ‘bomb’. It couldn’t be. This was Babylon. This was _his_ street – where he learned who he was and how to be proud. It was not supposed to be a battle ground. So fucking wrong. He was shaken out of his daze by a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Justin?” Before he could respond he felt himself being pulled into a fierce embrace. “Oh my God, baby. Thank God you’re all right.” Emmett’s arms were around him so tightly, Justin could barely answer him.

“Em...” Justin dropped his bag and pushed Emmett off him enough to speak. “Emmett! I wasn’t even here.” Emmett looked shaken, bewildered – completely overwhelmed. He was dirty and smelled of smoke but didn’t appear to be otherwise injured, and Justin took him by the arms. “Have you seen my mother?” He didn’t respond, just continued to stare down at Justin with a curiously blank look. “Emmett! My mother?” Emmett turned his head in the direction of the triage station that had been set up just outside the entrance of the club. Justin followed his gaze and saw a familiar face. Tucker. Shit. Then Justin realized he was leaning over someone on a stretcher. Someone blonde. Jesus Christ! Justin pushed away from Emmett and ran.

‘Mom!’ He nearly buckled with relief when she sat up at the sound of his voice.

“Justin!” He hugged her hard then abruptly let go as he realized anew she was on a stretcher. “Justin, what are you doing here?”

“Mom, are you okay? Are you hurt?” He looked her up and down and saw that her left leg was splinted below the knee and her hands were swathed in gauze. “God, Mom, what happened?” Jennifer looked back at him, her expression a terrible blend of pain and confusion, but there was a small measure of gratitude there as well that Justin had been with Brian, far away from this madness. It was entirely too possible that once again, she owed her son’s life to Brian Kinney.

“I’m all right Justin.” She saw his eyes travel over her again, narrowing with uncertainty as they met hers. “Really, they say it’s just a bad sprain.” Justin brushed his fingers lightly over her bandaged hands.

“What about this?” He asked, calmer now.

“Glass. When I fell... there was so much glass...” her voice trailed off as she looked down at her hands. Then she looked up and smiled softly, reaching up to touch the face of the man standing beside her. “But Tuck saved me.”

Justin’s barely concealed skepticism was obvious, but Tucker just shook his head and bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Jennifer turned back to Justin and her smile faded.

“Justin, you have no idea. It was like the whole world exploded in there. One minute we were all watching the show and dancing and then...” She paused and shook her head, tears springing to her eyes. Her voice grew quiet again, barely a whisper, yet Justin heard her clearly amidst all the chaos. “It was so loud. I never heard anything so loud. And then.. nothing. For a few seconds it was like somebody turned off the sound, turned off the lights. You know? ” She peered at Justin, nodding her head as though imploring him to understand. “And then it was loud again, and dark and people were screaming, trying to get out. Someone... pushed me and I fell.” She looked down at her hands. “So many people, all trying to get out. Somebody stepped on my ankle... I thought,” she swallowed hard, tears streaming down her cheeks now. “I was afraid they were going to trample me.”

“Jen, don’t.’ Tucker stroked her hair gently. She sniffled and swiped the back of her bandaged hand over her eyes.

“I’m okay.” She looked back at her son again. “Tucker found me. He got me out of there.” She waited for him to meet her gaze. “He saved my life, Justin.” Justin’s own cheeks were wet now, and he bent and put his arms around her again.

“God, Mom. I’m so sorry. I love you.” She hugged him back and told him she loved him, too, and they stayed that way for some time, rocking and holding each other tightly. Finally Justin let her go and walked around to the other side of the stretcher. He held his hand out to Tucker, who only hesitated a moment before taking it. “I... uh, just...” What did you say to the man who saved your mother’s life after you’ve spent the better part of a month being a twat to him? “I just...”

Tucker quirked an eyebrow at him and then shrugged lightly. “Forget it.”

The two men shook hands and then Justin impulsively pulled him into an embrace. “Thank you.” He released him and turned back to his mother who was laying back on the stretcher again. “Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?” She shook her head.

“There are only so many ambulances available, Justin. They’re taking the most seriously injured first.”

But it had been nearly an hour already, surely... As if reading his thoughts, Jennifer spoke again.

“There were a lot of people hurt, Justin.”

Shit. In his concern for his mother he’d forgotten for a moment that so many of his friends were here tonight as well. It hit him again, hard and all at once and his stomach lurched at the realization. So far, he’d only seen Emmett. He looked around helplessly, then back at his mother.

“Have you seen anybody else?” She took a little too long to answer, exchanging a look with Tucker that Justin didn’t care for. Didn’t care for at all. “Mom?” It was Tucker who answered him.

“Your friend Debbie.” Justin felt his legs go weak and he grabbed the edge of the stretcher to steady himself. Tucker reached out and put a hand on his arm. “She’ll be all right though. It seems she was just arriving when... it happened. She was hit by some flying debris and knocked unconscious, but she’ll be fine. They only took her in as a precaution.” Justin looked to his mother for confirmation. She smiled reassuringly and nodded.

“You know Deb, Justin. Has there ever been a more hard-headed person?” Her smile was somewhat watery though. “It will take more than a chunk of flying metal to keep her down.” Justin was startled once again by strong arms wrapping around him from behind.

“You know it, honey. She’s one tough old broad.” Em’s voice was low and comforting in his ear. Justin squeezed Emmett’s arms and for the first time since he’d heard the news flash on the radio, he smiled weakly.

“You better not let her hear you calling her ‘old’ or you’ll be the one needing an ambulance.”

All four of them grinned at that – a brief but welcome moment of normal in the chaos. Justin turned to Emmett and took stock of him. He seemed less bewildered now, not ‘right’ by a long shot, but less gutted looking at least, thank God. Em might be the big, nelly bottom of the group, ready to throw a party at the drop of a silk hanky, or bust out his best Lana Turner impression when the occasion called for it, but he was also the one who felt things most deeply. He was the closest to Justin in age and yet somehow, Justin felt that inside, Emmett was the wisest of them all – an old soul born into the body of a flaming queen. Justin always felt that besides Brian, if he ever really, truly needed someone in his corner, he would choose Emmett. He found himself suddenly very, very grateful that his friend was here, whole and unhurt. Now he needed to know about the rest. Justin took a breath and asked after the others. Em closed his eyes almost as if saying a silent prayer.

“They’re all fine.” Em looked at Justin and nodded with an emotional catch in his voice. “Everybody’s fine. Teddy has a little smoke inhalation, but he’ll be okay. Michael went to the hospital with Deb, but Ben’s here somewhere, helping out...” Emmett looked around them, throwing his arms out and then letting them fall again, that slightly bruised look clouding his eyes again. “God, how could this happen?” He moved closer to them, lowering his voice as though sharing a terrible secret. “Carl said... they think....” He was visibly shaking as he whispered the rest. “Fucking Christ, they think it was _a bomb.”_ This time it was Justin who pulled Em into a hug, rubbing the big man’s back soothingly. As if he’d conjured him up, Carl appeared out of the crowd and walked over to join them.

He nodded to Jennifer and Justin, and Jennifer introduced him to Tucker and then asked about Debbie. Carl shook Tuck’s hand and then gripped Emmett’s shoulder affectionately, but his voice was solemn when he spoke.

“She’s going to be fine, thanks for asking,” Carl spoke confidently, but inside he was still shaking. So close – she had been so close. He scrubbed his face wearily. What a fucking night. “It’s a hell of a thing,” he said, shaking his head. “Not something I ever expected to happen in Pittsburgh.”

“So, it was a bomb then?” Emmett asked, still struggling to regain his composure. Carl looked dolefully at his young friend. He could hardly believe it, and it was only a preliminary report, but yes, somebody, or somebodies had planted a bomb in Babylon. And a pretty fucking big one, too. This was no warning, no political commentary. Whoever did this meant business, and they meant to hurt as many people as possible. He looked past them – from the outside it didn’t seem like much – broken windows, splintered wood where the frames had blown out. But inside – inside looked like a fucking war zone. He didn’t need to answer Em – his silence said it all.

“How many dead?”

It was Justin who finally voiced the question they’d all been thinking. Jesus, the little shit always was a blunt one. No wonder Debbie loved him so much. Carl pushed his personal feelings aside and dealt the only way he knew how – as a cop. He assumed his Detective Horvath role and looked them all over before answering directly.

“Six confirmed so far, nearly a hundred injured. At least twelve of those critical from what I’ve been told.” He paused and considered leaving it at that but their faces told him they wanted the whole truth. “They’re still... recovering bodies from the area closest to the blast.” The scariest part was that it could have been much worse but with the concert going on there were less people around the bar than there might normally have been.

All four of them were silent, each one considering the information in their own way. Jennifer, grateful to be alive and to have her son standing beside her. Tucker, still having trouble getting the image of Jennifer laying on the ground out of his mind. Emmett, trying so hard to be brave but dying a little inside each time he thought of what he’d seen as he made his way out of the ruined club - wondering if he would ever really be able to close his eyes again. And Justin. Still so young in many ways, yet for the second time in his young life, forced to face the fact that someone would rather see him dead than gay. That someone hated him just for existing.

They were all still contemplating when Ben appeared, supporting a young man with a rather large gash in his leg as he hobbled into the triage area. He handed him off to an EMT and walked over to the group. Hugs were exchanged all around, and Emmett filled him in on what Carl had just told them. He didn’t really have to though – Ben had been in and out of the building a dozen or more times, helping with the walking wounded. He’d seen the worst of the devastation inside – he didn’t need numbers to know just what a nightmare this was. Jesus, he believed in peace, love and understanding, in leading by example – that violence was never the right answer. But if he could lay his hands on the motherfuckers that had done this... He ran a hand back through his hair and blew out a long breath. He was about to go back inside when two EMT’s approached them and spoke to Jennifer.

“We’re ready for you now, ma’am.” The younger of the two asked her to lie back on the stretcher.

“You know, I really don’t think I need an ambulance. I’m feeling much better.”

“Mother.”

“Jennifer.”

The two voices were in tandem and Justin and Tucker exchanged wry smiles.

“I didn’t say I shouldn’t get checked out, I’m just saying I don’t really need an ambulance.”

“You’re not exactly fit for the back of the bike, Jen.” Tucker was saved from responding to Justin’s dry snort by Ben.

“I’m going to check on Debbie and Michael anyway. I can drive you, if you like.” Ben turned to the EMT that had Jennifer’s triage tag in his hand. “That’s if you think it will be all right.” The young man looked at the tag and shook his head.

“You shouldn’t have any weight on that leg until it’s been x-rayed. I’d advise you to let us help you, Mrs. Taylor. It’s why we’re here.” Jennifer looked at the five men standing around her and acquiesced, laying back on the stretcher.

“Fine, you win,” she muttered, then remembering her manners said thank you to the EMT’s. When they had her ready to load into the unit, she waved Justin over and pulled him down to her. “I love you, Justin. I’m so sorry all this had to happen now, tonight of all nights. Tell Brian how sorry I am about his club, okay?” Justin kissed her on the cheek and squeezed her hand.

“I love you too, Mom. Don’t worry about us, we’re going to be fine. I’ll see you later.” He stepped back and let them lift the gurney into the back of the waiting ambulance, and watched as Tucker climbed in behind her. Maybe he wasn’t totally ridiculous.

When they had pulled away, Justin turned back to his friends. Ben and Emmett were talking and Carl was on his phone, and didn’t look too pleased about whatever he was hearing.

“Brian, it’s Carl again. Listen, you really need to get down here – I can send a unit to pick you up if we have to, but we need to talk. Call me.”

“Shit.” The word drew a look from all three men. Carl was the one who responded.

“You know where Brian is, Justin? Because I’ve been trying to reach him for over an hour and he doesn’t answer his phone.”

“He’s at the airport. He... I.. we were supposed to be meeting at the airport.” Carl’s face remained impassive, but both Ben and Emmett stared open-mouthed at him. Em was first to recover.

“You were what? Honey!!! You’re back together? That’s... wonderful.” Emmett smiled, but it was the kind of smile you might give a child as you slowly took the loaded pistol out of their hands.

“Easy, Emmett. We’re not exactly .... We’re...it doesn’t matter. It’s complicated.” Justin chewed on his bottom lip. He took out his cell phone – no messages, and it was long past the time he should’ve met Brian. Fuck. What if he _hadn’t_ heard? What if Brian just thought he wasn’t coming, that he didn’t want him anymore? He dialed his number again. He must have heard... how could he not have? _And why the fuck was he not answering his phone?_ “Goddamnit, Brian. Where are you? Call me. Please?”

“You want to tell me what’s going on, Justin?” Carl folded his arms and waited. He could see the conflict on the kid’s face and he felt for him, but they needed some answers and his patience was growing thin. “Look, kiddo. This is Brian’s club. Somebody just blew it up and he’s nowhere to be found. We need to talk to him.”

Justin sighed and glanced sideways at Emmett. He really didn’t want to share their plans with the whole world, and as much as he loved the man, the phrase _telegram, telephone, tell a queen_ was coined for Emmett Honeycutt. But he was starting to get nervous. Christ, nervous had left the building a long time ago. Now he was shit-scared.

“He asked me to go with him to Sydney. It was... it was a surprise.” He saw both Ben and Em react to that; Carl just nodded. “He gave me the ticket earlier today and I was supposed to meet him in the Sky Club lounge. I was on my way there when I heard about... this.”

“What time is the flight?”

Justin’s heart sank. Surely Brian wouldn’t go without him. He just wouldn’t. Justin reached into his satchel and pulled out the ticket. Without a word, he handed it over to Carl who was already dialing the phone. He read the flight information out loud and waited for what seemed like hours before grunting a ‘thanks’ and hanging up the phone, his face expressionless as he regarded Justin.

“Just tell me.”

“Neither of your tickets have been used. Nobody named Brian Kinney has checked in, and he didn’t answer pages in the terminal or the lounge.” Justin looked somewhat relieved in the few seconds it took him to realize that this was not entirely good news. Carl almost didn’t have the heart to ask the kid, but they really needed to find him. “Is it possible that he decided to go somewhere else?” Justin only considered the answer for a heartbeat.

“No.”

“Sweetie,” Emmett started, intent on consoling him, but Justin waved him off. Brian didn’t do everything he’d done only to blow him off. Just, no.

“No. There is no way he was going somewhere else.” He looked at Ben, but knew he’d get no support from that corner. So he was more than surprised when the older man spoke up.

“He called Michael.” This time, three sets of eyes landed on Ben, all with the same question in them. Debbie had heard all about Brian’s ‘apology’ to Michael at the art gallery. Which of course meant Carl had heard all about ‘that asshole Brian’s so-called fuckin’ apology’. And Emmett – well Emmett just seemed to know everything, all the time. So yes, Brian calling Michael was quite the bombshell. So to speak.

“Last night... yesterday - I don’t know, shit, it was three o’clock in the morning. Anyway, Brian left a message on Michael’s cell phone. He... apologized. For real this time.” Ben smirked slightly, despite the situation. “In his own way, of course.”

“What did Michael do?” Justin asked quietly, trying not to let the icy panic clawing at his chest take over. It spread quickly though as they waited for Ben to answer. Even through the layer of soot that covered his face they could see him pale. His eyes flitted from Justin to Carl, back to Justin again.

“Ben, what did he do?” Justin bit the words off, barely holding it together now.

“He... he didn’t get the message until this afternoon. Michael called him, but he got the machine.” Ben tried to swallow, his mouth gone dry. He spoke to Carl now, because suddenly he couldn’t bear to look at Justin. “He told him that he wanted to talk. He... Jesus, Carl. He asked Brian to meet him here.” He turned back to Justin, shaking his head. “We never heard from him, Justin. Teddy told Michael about the trip after we got here. We just assumed...”

But Justin was already on the run, and the three of them followed quickly on his heels.

For the first time since he was a little kid, kneeling beside his bed with fingers laced together in front of him, Justin Taylor prayed. He prayed as he ran down the alley that led to the back entrance of Babylon. Prayed that for once, Brian Kinney _was_ the selfish prick that everybody believed him to be. That he was busy getting blown in the bathroom of the Executive Sky Club, or on a first class flight to Ibiza, drowning all notions of a life with Justin Taylor in a glass of Jim Beam Black. _Please, God, just let him be anywhere but here and I promise, I’ll never ask another thing of you._

Justin skidded to a stop as he rounded the corner. Had to, because his legs simply didn’t work anymore - refused to hold him up even one second longer and he fell to his knees beside the deep-green classic car that Brian loved so much.  
 _  
No. No. Nononogodohgodbrianbrianbriannn..._ The icy panic loosened its grip and gave way to a deep, burning pain that spread through him like fire and he let out a cry that made the three older men’s blood run cold. “Briaaannnnnnn!”

Emmett got to him first and pulled him to his feet, wrapping a long arm around his slender shoulders. “Baby, we don’t know anything for sure. Just because his car’s here...” Even to his own ears that sounded completely lame. The look exchanged by Carl and Ben did nothing to add weight to his assurances. Both of them had seen the bodies inside. At least two of them that had been near the bar – the source of the explosion – were damaged beyond recognition, as yet unidentified. Each man imagined the size and shape of the victims they’d seen – trying to decide if it was possible... They both shook their heads, but the dread on their faces was not lost on Justin and he slipped out of Emmett’s arms, his intention plain.

“I have to find him.”

Fortunately Ben was faster and he grabbed him before he could run again. “No, Justin, wait.”

“I have to _find_ him,” Justin repeated the words like a mantra, straining to move towards the building, towards Brian. He struggled, but was no match for Ben, and then Carl was in his face, his voice firm and infuriatingly calm.

“No, Justin. What you have to do is think. We all do.” He looked back and forth between Em and Ben. “You’re sure you never saw him inside?” They both shook their heads and Carl turned to Ben. “And neither you or Michael heard from him after you arrived here? Nothing?” Again, Ben shook his head, but his eyebrows knit together as a thought occurred to him.

“What? Ben, WHAT?” Justin wanted to grab the bigger man by the shirt and shake the words out of him, but he could only wait.

“Michael – we... he put our coats in Brian’s office after we got here. He... his phone was in the pocket. If Brian called...” There was no chance to retrieve their coats, or anything else from that part of the building – the main bar was completely destroyed and the stairs and catwalk that ran beside and over it had collapsed, leaving the whole area dangerously unstable. Brian’s office was off the hall behind that.

Carl was already pulling out his phone. “Do you know the number for Michael’s voicemail?”

Ben nodded – Michael forgot his phone so often it was a necessity that they be able to get messages remotely. He took the cell from Carl and dialed the number, then entered the code. Carl took the phone back and put it on speaker.

 _‘You have one new message.’_

Justin let out a little moan as Brian’s clearly annoyed voice– nearly drowned out by the sounds of music and cheering in the background – filled the silence.

 _“Fuck you, Michael. The point of having a cell phone is to answer the fucking thing. I am on my way to my office – you have five minutes before I’m out of here.”_

A mechanical voice followed the brief, terrible message. _‘Thursday. Seven thirty eight p.m. End of new messages.’  
_  
This time, Ben didn’t even try to stop him when Justin wrenched out of his grasp.

*~*~*

 **Brian**

The first time Brian opened his eyes, his first thought was that he was in Hell. His second thought was, _‘Fucking Anita.’_ Because surely this was the most fucked-up hallucination he’d ever had, no matter what kind of shit she’d cooked up in her bathtub in Tijuana. Thanks to one Vic Grassi and some incredibly potent cancer drugs, he’d taken some fairly colorful trips through the looking glass to the land of paunchy old bears in tighty-whities and a demented queen with a ray gun. So it wasn’t so much that Hell looked a lot like Babylon – he was pretty used to that particular sideshow by now. It was just that usually, he could hear himself screaming.

In this rendition he could see electrical wires arcing over his head, could taste the acrid dust that swirled like clouds around him, could feel the vibrations his voice made in his throat as he yelled for someone, anyone to come and release him. But all he could hear was a dull, rushing sound, like a discordant bell-tone being blown around by the wind. It made him feel disconnected, caught in some surreal dreamscape where nothing was what it seemed. Fucking Anita.

Only... he knew it wasn’t. Since experiencing the joys of radiation, he’d pretty much stuck to great weed and the occasional hit of poppers for his pharmacological needs. Whatever circle of hell this was, it wasn’t chemically induced. He watched as a strobe light hanging by its cord overhead exploded in a silent shower of sparks and flame. A small burning chunk of it landed right beside his head – so close he could feel its heat on his cheek and the smoke burned his throat. He had an idea he should move, try to protect himself, but Christ, he felt so heavy. He tried to brush it away and didn’t quite get why it wasn’t happening. Maybe if he just rested for a minute, he’d be able to figure this all the fuck out.

The second time he opened his eyes brought the pain. He woke up coughing and it felt as though someone were trying to rip his lungs out through his chest. Brian squeezed his eyes shut again and willed himself to stop. When the coughing subsided he opened his eyes again and took in a shallow breath or two, even managed a bitter laugh. You didn’t get to survive being Jack Kinney’s son without learning a thing or two about impulse control. He shook his head and tried to sit up, and then had to stuff his fist into his teeth to keep from screaming. Pain shot through him, so much so he couldn’t pinpoint where it started or even where it ended. It seemed to radiate through his whole body. _Motherfucker._ He thought about trying again, but pain was a great educator. Instead he raised his head, and tried to assess his situation. It was dark – there were emergency lights, but nothing close enough to do him much good. Still, he could see enough to finally understand the source of his pain. To recognize just how deeply fucked he was. A rare wave of panic flooded over him and Brian fought it back with everything he had. He knew if he freaked out now, he was finished. He took as deep a breath as was possible, braced himself, and tried with all his strength to pull himself out from under the twisted pile of metal that was once the catwalk. His last conscious thought before the pain pulled him under again was how fucked up it was to not be able to hear yourself scream.

The third time Brian opened his eyes, he could hear again, and immediately wished he couldn’t. The ringing was still there, but there were other sounds too. Terrible sounds. Painful screams; panicked voices calling for help; the persistent, rhythmic drone of the fire alarm; The hissing, snapping electrical sound of the wires that dangled overhead. Brian could hear all these things now, and he wanted it to stop. And closer, a pathetic, mournful sound that was too familiar – the sound of someone witnessing something no one should ever have to see. _Jesus Fucking Christ, just make it stop._ He strained to see where it was coming from, but found he couldn’t see anything at all beyond the ruined steel and rubble that surrounded him.

He wasn’t buried, Brian knew that at least. He could see the ceiling above him, the wall beside him. But there was something – one of the dance platforms, he thought, or maybe a piece of the bar – blocking the rest of his line of sight. He tried calling out but his throat was so dry from the dust and smoke it barely made a sound – and Christ, it hurt. His arms were free but he could barely move the left one without causing himself a world of pain. A desperate laugh that was really more like a sob escaped him – apparently having a building fall on you wasn’t all that different than taking a header off your bicycle on the side of the highway in that respect. His chest hurt like a motherfucker if he breathed too deeply, and then there was the fact that as near as he could tell, his legs, all of the right one and most of the left, were pinned underneath a fucking ton of catwalk. He didn’t want to think about what it meant that they didn’t hurt more than they did. He was pretty fucking cold though. “Fuck. Me.”

What he really, really wanted was a drink – his throat was on fire and his lips felt like sandpaper. A drink. He’d been on his way to get one when... what? When the whole world went to shit. Too bright, too loud, too much to think about, and he was just too fucking tired.

 _“We need you to leave the building. Everyone who is able, please exit as quickly as possible.”_

The directive, heard through a haze of pain, triggered something inside Brian. _Everyone who is able. Everyone._ The benefit - the stupid, hateful, useless fucking benefit and his whole... fuck his whole family was in this building. He had to find them. Help them. Save them. Everyone. _Justin. Michael. Debbie. LindsayTeddyEmmettJustinJustin. Justin? Wait, no. Justin was going with him. Justin is safe. He's at the airport. Thank Christ, Justin was at the airport. Waiting for him. Unless he wasn’t._

 __"Justin!" Brian gritted his teeth and pushed, twisting his body in a futile effort to free himself. He felt something give and an agonized moan tore through his already ravaged throat as the pain exploded behind his eyes. His vision shimmered then faded to black and he found the silence he’d been wishing for.

*~*~*

 **Justin**

Justin slumped against the Corvette and pressed his forehead to the cold glass, trying desperately to fight the wave of nausea that rose in his throat. He saw Carl checking the back door to the club, but it could only be opened with a key or from the inside. He was speaking into his phone but Justin couldn’t hear him over the sound of Brian’s voice in his ears. _‘I’m on my way to my office...’_   No, no, no, no, no. _‘I’m on my way to my office...’_ But his bags were in the car. _‘I’m on my way to my office...’_ I’m going with him. _‘I’m on my way to my office...’_ Jesus, no. Justin ran.

He got to the entrance seconds before Ben and Emmett caught up to him but a burly firefighter grabbed him by the sleeve as he headed up the stairs.

“Let go of me!” Justin nearly tore his jacket off pulling away, but the big man grasped him by both arms. “Get your hands off me!”

“Easy now, son, you can’t go in there.” He lifted him bodily off the first step and set him down firmly.

“We’ll look after him,” Ben spoke up and tried to take Justin’s arm. “Come on, Justin...” But Justin would not be dissuaded and the fireman would not let him go.

“Fuck _off!_ I have to find him.” He struggled, looking from Ben to Emmett to the fireman, eyes wild and pleading. “Let me go! I have to...”

“It’s all right, Matt.” Carl had reappeared and spoke to the big man holding Justin. “I’ll take him.” He nodded and released Justin, and Carl made sure Ben and Em had hold of him before he turned back and spoke quietly to the firefighter, quickly explaining the situation. His expression was grim as he headed back inside and Carl took Justin by the shoulders. “Justin, I know you’re worried about Brian. We all are, but we have to let them do their job...”

“Carl, please,” Justin cut him off, visibly trying to regain control of himself. “Please, we have to find him. I have to do something... please...”

“Justin, it’s... bad in there.” Carl shook his head. “And if I let anything happen to you, Debbie’d have my balls. You know that.”

“It’s Brian, Carl.” Justin forced himself to speak with a calm he didn't feel. His voice was quiet but held even more conviction. “It’s _Brian._ ”

Carl sighed. The kid had been through a lot in his life already and from what he knew of it, he was pretty damn tough. Christ, he had the guts to take on the fucking Chief of Police, yet he had to wonder if he was ready for this. The small fires had all been contained and the power and gas shut down, so the most immediate dangers had passed. But they weren’t sure about the structural damage and there was debris everywhere. And worse. Getting the victims out was the first priority, and everyone that could be saved was evacuated as quickly as they could. Still, this was a crime scene and protocol dictated that it be preserved as much as possible, so everything else _\- everything -_ remained as it was. He was breaking about a hundred regulations and probably risking his job, but it would take a harder person than him to deny Justin. He shook his head in resignation.

“All right, but on one condition. You do exactly as I say, and if I say we go, we’re out of there – no questions asked. Got it?” Justin agreed and Carl nodded to Ben and Emmett. He scrubbed his hand over his face and prayed he wouldn’t regret it, then stepped past Justin and up the stairs. “Let’s go then.”

*~*~*

 _‘It’s bad in there....’_ Justin looked around in disbelief as he followed Carl through the carnage and decided that the detective was the undisputed king of understatement. It was a fucking nightmare. He had seen at least three bodies covered with sheets; there wasn’t anything left he could recognize of the bar, and the damage seemed to radiate outwards from there. Broken lights and wiring hung from the ceiling, shattered glass and twisted metal was everywhere, the air was still thick with dust and it swirled eerily in the emergency lights that gave the whole place an other-worldly feel. And the smell – the acrid, choking stench of scorched fabric, burnt plastic, burnt... Oh god, he could taste it and his stomach clenched from the effort it took not to vomit. He swallowed hard and fixed his eyes straight ahead, looking towards Brian’s office. Or rather, where Brian’s office should be. The hallway that led to it was at least partially blocked – one of the staircases that led to the catwalk had been destroyed and the catwalk had collapsed. Most of it was on the floor, one end still attached to what was left of the staircase. Jesus! Justin stepped around Carl, determined to find Brian.

Two burly men in turn-out gear were clearing away piles of sheetrock and debris. One of them dragged aside part of a dance platform that lay overturned against the wreckage of the catwalk. Matt, the firefighter who Carl had spoken to was keying the mic attached to the shoulder of his jacket, calling for equipment and more men. He waved them off and Carl grabbed Justin by the back of his jacket to pull him away, but too late.

People always assumed that the worst moment of Justin’s life was the second Chris Hobbs’ bat connected with his skull. He rarely corrected them because it was easier not to, but it wasn’t true. The worst moment came days later, after he woke up and realized his hand wasn’t moving. The moment he believed he would never be able to draw again, never be the artist he was meant to be. He had never felt such despair, such fear, such utter hopelessness and in that instant he wished that Hobbs had just killed him. That was the worst of moment of his life, but standing there in the ruin that was Babylon, Justin knew he would willingly live in that moment forever if it meant he could just take this one back. If he could un-see what he was seeing. If he could make it not be real.

Even in the surreal glow of the emergency lighting, Justin recognized the black leather Boss jacket, caught a glimpse of chestnut hair, caked in dust but still so familiar. _No, no, no, no, no._ One of the firemen shone his flashlight through the twisted metal onto the still form of the man trapped beneath it and Justin felt Carl’s arms wrap around him as the bottom dropped out of his world.

“Nooooooooo!” The sound poured out of him, not so much a word as a mournful plea. Carl eased him down as Justin’s legs gave out and he sank slowly to the floor, hands fisted in his hair. Tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving pale, white trails in the smudges of soot and dust. “No...no...no...not Brian. It’s not Brian, it’s not...” He shook his head back and forth, chanting the words, his mind rejecting what he was seeing. There was a space of a few feet between the wall and the collapsed section of catwalk and the man (not Brian, not Brian, not Brian) was wedged in it, his lower half pinned under the massive pile of metal. More firemen appeared, clearing the debris away hand over hand to make a path to him(not Brian not Brian). Another set up a large, portable flood light that illuminated the scene with sickening clarity. It was Matt who reached him (Brian) first and who bent over him (ohgodBrian) and carefully pressed two fingers to his throat, just below his jaw. _Oh god, Brian._ He keyed the mic on his shoulder and spoke into it without looking up.

Justin’s hands folded into themselves of their own volition, an instinctive response perhaps to the prayer he was whispering now. “Please, Brian. Please, Brian. Please, please, please...”

Matt turned around and looked at them, his expression grim. Justin felt the air rush out of his lungs, but then the fireman nodded his head ever so slightly. “He’s still alive.” Although he spoke the words as if they just might not be true by the time he finished saying them, Justin thought they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. But then he was backing out of the space, leaving Brian there. What the fuck? Justin was on his feet again in an instant.

“What are you doing? Don’t leave him there!” Justin lurched forward, but Carl grabbed him again.

“Let them work.”

“He can’t just leave him there! Jesus Christ!” He tried to pull away from him but Carl was firm this time, and gave him a slight shake.

“Justin! Let them do their job, or I will take you out of here right now, do you understand me?” It took every bit of self-control Justin possessed, but he stopped resisting and Carl eased his grip on him. “They know what they’re doing, kiddo. They’ll get him out.” He pulled Justin back out of the way as two EMT’s came in with their kits and a portable oxygen tank. Matt spoke briefly with them and then he walked over to Carl and Justin while they went to work.

“Justin, right?” Justin nodded and the big man went on. “Your friend is alive and we’re going to do our best to keep him that way.” He looked back and forth between Justin and Carl as if deciding how much information to give them, and Carl nodded his approval, so he continued. “We have to get him out, but we can’t just lift the catwalk, it’s too unstable and if it shifts...” Justin flinched at the unspoken implication. A firefighter passed them carrying what to Justin looked ridiculously like a giant robot hand, followed by another two with still more equipment. Matt went on, “We’re going to try getting some support underneath the part where the vic.. your friend is trapped, and then we’ll cut the section loose. Then we should be able to lift it off him safely.”

Justin was nodding but his eyes were on Brian as the paramedics worked on him. There wasn’t much room but they worked quickly and efficiently. One of them, a petite blonde woman, placed a cervical collar on him then called over to Carl and Justin. “His name?” Carl answered her and she turned back to her patient. “Brian? My name is Nancy. Can you hear me?” She waited a second or two and then rubbed her knuckles on his chest and repeated her question. When she got no response, she proceeded to cut away the expensive leather jacket. Justin couldn’t help a faint smile at the thought of Brian’s reaction when he found out about that. The shirt was next and Justin’s watery smile faded as she stripped it away. Even from this distance he could see the dark bruises already forming on his chest and shoulder. Fuck. The young male tech, who didn’t appear to be much older than Justin himself, placed an oxygen mask over Brian’s nose and mouth and attached monitoring leads and a blood pressure cuff while the woman listened with a stethoscope, then proceeded to examine the rest of him as much as was possible. She turned him slightly and slid a backboard under him as far as she could, and Justin had to cover his mouth to keep from crying out as the paramedic’s gloved hands reappeared, stained crimson and slick with blood.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

She seemed to be the senior of the two medics and she directed her partner to get supplies from their kits as she spoke into the mic on her shoulder, relaying Brian’s condition to the trauma center. Justin didn’t understand everything she was saying, but he knew enough to be terrified at some of the words. Words like hypovolemic and tachycardic. She listened for a moment then rhymed off instructions to her colleague. They placed a large bore IV in each of Brian’s arms, attached bags of saline to each one and proceeded to push the fluids into him. She watched the monitor for a few moments, then handed the bag in her hands to the young paramedic who continued to squeeze both of them. She pulled a warming blanket from their kit and covered Brian as best she could, then leaned over him again. “Sir? Brian? My name is Nancy, can you hear me?” She thought she saw the long, dark lashes flutter and she moved closer. “Are you with me? I need you to answer me, Brian.” She squeezed his hand and tried again. “Come on, Brian. Talk to me.”

Justin nearly slumped to the floor again with relief when he saw the young woman smile.

*~*~*

[   
](http://q-dicted.livejournal.com/2312.html)


	3. Part Three

**Brian**

 _“My name is Nancy, can you hear me?”_

Of course I can hear you – you’re yelling in my fucking ear. And I really wish you would stop. And who the fuck is Nancy? And why is it so fucking cold in here? All valid thoughts, but nothing came out when he tried to speak. He fought to open his eyes but they weren’t cooperating either. Fuck this! He tried again and caught a brief glimpse of blond. Justin?

 _“Are you with me? I need you to answer me, Brian.”_

 _“Come on, Brian. Talk to me.”_

His eyes fluttered open again and the blonde came into focus. No, not Justin, but just as persistent as the little twat. He swallowed painfully and tried to wet his lips without much success. The words came out as little more than a raspy whisper, barely audible through the mask but clear enough to make her smile.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“My name is Nancy. We’re here to help you, Brian.” We? She saw his eyes shift and answered his unspoken question. “This is Glenn. We are paramedics and you’ve been injured.”

Fuck. Did she really think he didn’t know he was injured? He wanted to scream just from the effort it took to breathe and she was telling him he was _injured._ Jesus Christ. Then he tried to sit up and holy shit! Maybe he did need the reminder. He groaned and fell back, shaking from the pain and the cold.

“Don’t try to move, sir,” the younger medic put a hand on his shoulder. “We’re working on getting you out of here, but you need to stay as still as possible until we do, okay?”

Yeah, a little late with that advice there, genius. He decided to stick with the blonde. “Hurts like a motherfucker.”

She could barely hear him but didn’t need words to know that he was suffering. “We’ll give you something for that soon, I promise.” She tucked the blanket back around him and pushed the hair back off his damp forehead. He tried to pull the mask off – the cool air it was pumping was just about killing him. “Leave it, Brian.” She took his hand and moved it away.

“So fucking thirsty.” His voice caught on the words and hated himself for it, but he couldn’t help it – his throat was on fire. Nancy exchanged a look with Glenn, who only shrugged in return and nodded slightly. He reached around behind her and grabbed a bottle of water from her bag. It was totally against procedure but neither of them felt the least bit wrong about it – a little bit of water was going to be the least of this man’s problems. He unscrewed the cap and handed it to Nancy, then went back to squeezing the saline into him. She lowered the oxygen mask and slipped her hand under his head. It was awkward with the collar but she held the bottle to his lips.

“Take it easy, okay? Just a sip.” He took a mouthful and most of it dribbled back out, but just wetting his lips seemed to help. He swallowed and took another small drink and she felt him relax a little more. He opened his eyes again, still clouded with pain but calmer. He even managed a grim smile.

“If I wasn’t a fag, I might just kiss you for that.” She handed the bottle back to Glenn and looked sideways at her patient – even in this condition she could see how beautiful he must be. It made her want to cry to know what somebody’s hate had done here tonight; instead she smiled back and winked at him.

“If I wasn’t a dyke, I might just let you.” He rolled his eyes and she slipped the oxygen mask back on him before he could make the remark she knew was on his tongue. He was quiet for a moment while she tended the small cuts on his face and head, and then he beckoned her down closer to him again. She knew for certain what he was going to ask her. What they always asked her.

“What happened?”

She hesitated, unsure what to tell him. In her experience, honesty was usually the best course – people generally coped better when they knew what they were dealing with, but this? How could she tell him this? And in the end, she didn’t have to.

“It was a bomb, wasn’t it?”

Damn. She nodded silently.

“How many people...” He started to cough and she was saved from having to answer by the death grip he put on her hand as the pain ripped through him and he curled in on himself. It only lasted a few seconds but it seemed like an eternity until he caught his breath again and lay trembling in its wake.  "Jesus fucking Christ, get me out of here...” The words were meant to be an order, a demand – but they were really just a plea. He still had hold of her hand, but his grip weakened.

Nancy listened to his chest and belly again and then palpated his abdomen with the flat of her hands. Brian pulled his lips into his teeth and bit down hard in an effort not to cry out. Damnit.

“Sorry about that,” she spoke softly to him. She glanced up and saw Justin watching them, his face a study in abject fear. Clearly this man meant something to him – maybe everything. She looked around at the rescue workers progress, looked at the monitor, and then at her patient. He was sweating profusely now and breathing in shallow sips, and she made a decision. “Brian? I’ll be right back, okay? You hang in there for me.” Glenn looked at her questioningly as she stood up – he could see the monitors just as well as she could. She answered with a slight shake of her head. “Just keep pushing the saline and watch his pressure.”

Nancy backed out of the narrow space and found Matt. “How much longer?”

Matt looked past her at his men. They had the airbags in place to lift the catwalk and had one side of it cut free. They were maybe twenty minutes away on the other side. He told her this and she looked back over her shoulder to where Carl and Justin stood waiting and lowered her voice. “He may not have twenty minutes – do what you can, okay?”

As she turned away Matt watched her face change, like a mask slipping into place - the impersonal, detached persona she needed to survive this job sometimes. The young blond seemed to shrink away from her as she approached them – another reaction she was all too used to. “Are you family?” She addressed them both although the answer was pretty clear.

“I’m his... I...” Fuck. Justin hunched his shoulders and looked as though someone had kicked him in the gut. The detective placed his hand on Justin’s back and the younger man seemed to gather strength from it, though his voice was still unsteady. “I’m his partner.”

 **Justin**

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” Nancy’s voice was gentle and she placed her hand on his arm. He was looking directly at her with red-rimmed eyes but didn’t really seem to be seeing her. “Sir? Justin? I want to take you to him but you have to let me know you understand what’s going to happen, or I can’t do it.”

He nodded blindly – he knew that she was waiting for a response but couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Because he most certainly did _not_ fucking understand. Brian was right there; he was speaking to the paramedic that was kneeling over him. So how the fuck was he supposed to assure her that he understood that Brian was probably going to die. That what she was offering him was a chance to say goodbye. Because that was bullshit.

 _Crush injuries to his right side – leg and hip. Left leg above the knee. Broken ribs and clavicle. Hypovolemic -  Bleeding into his abdomen from the blunt trauma. His spleen, she suspected, possibly more. Those were only the most obvious and immediate dangers. She wouldn't speculate out loud about what other internal damage the explosion had wreaked. He was bleeding from the injuries to his legs – at the least an open fracture of the right femur from what they could see through the mesh of the catwalk._

 _“But you’re treating him, right? And they’re going to get him out soon. He’ll be okay once you get him out.”_

 _She shook her head grimly. “Yes, we’re going to get him out, but that presents its own problems. He’s been trapped for close to 90 minutes, Justin. Generally we have four hours or so before we have to be concerned with crush syndrome, but with his other injuries...things are... it’s a risk we have to think about. He’s in shock. We’re doing what we can to replace the fluids, but he’s very weak. He’s already lost a lot of blood... ”_

 _Justin took a couple deep breaths and tried to keep the blind panic out of his voice. “What are you saying?”_

 _“The weight of the catwalk is compressing his injuries, and that is likely tamping the bleeding right now. Once we release it, it will be extremely difficult to control.” She was clearly not telling him everything. Justin made a soft, whimpering sound in his throat._

 _“And?”_

 _She wasn’t at all sure that he could handle what she had to tell him, but she couldn’t have him asking all these things in front of Brian. She took a deep breath of her own and tried to explain as simply as she could._

 _“When tissue and muscle are under that much weight for too long, the cells begin to break down and die, and when that happens, chemicals build up in them – all kinds of chemicals.” She paused to let him absorb that. “When the pressure is released, all those toxins are released into the body at once. It’s called crush syndrome, and it causes... it can cause a lot of complications. The most immediate risk is cardiac arrest.” Justin gasped, and that’s when her tone changed from clinical to sympathetic and that terrified him most of all. “We will give him medication to help counteract that, but with all his other injuries...”_

 _“But can’t you just give him blood? He’s O negative..."_

 _“We will, of course. We’re going to do everything we can for him but...” She stopped – there wasn’t time to explain it all in detail and she wasn’t sure she wanted to see his reaction to the shitty fact that a blood transfusion was just as risky to Brian right now as any of his other injuries. Stored blood, even plasma, was high in the very chemicals that were going to flood his system when they freed him. It was dangerous enough in a hospital where they could monitor it closely – in the field... And even if they got him to the hospital, there were so many more repercussions from his injuries.  She sighed softly and put her hand on the young man’s arm. “I’m so sorry, I know how difficult this to hear, but you need to be prepared. His body has been through a lot, Justin. It’s likely that when we lift the weight off him, Brian’s system won’t be able to withstand the trauma.”_

 __Justin covered his mouth with both hands and stepped back from her, every part of him recoiling from the words she was saying. He stopped when he bumped into Carl who was standing right behind him.

“I’m truly sorry. I’ll take you to him now if you want.”

Tears streamed down his face as he stood there, trying to wrap his mind around what this woman was telling him. He looked from her to Carl who was beside him again, ashen and somber himself, and back to the medic. He simply could not process it – it was some kind of sick joke. Not even one of Michael’s fucked up comic-book villains could be this cruel.

“Justin?” She squeezed his arm and he finally looked her in the eyes again. “We don’t have a lot of time. Can you do this?”

Justin realized he was still nodding his head and stopped. He just needed to talk to Brian – once he talked to him, she’d see. Then _she_ would understand. He’s Brian Kinney for fuck’s sake. “Yes... I’m okay. I understand.” He took a steadying breath and looked at Carl again, who patted him on the shoulder.

“Go. I’ll make some calls.” He gave him a little push and watched as the two blondes made their way back to Brian.

~*~*~

Justin followed closely behind Nancy until she stopped short and turned to him just before they entered the narrow path. “Justin, we are going to do everything we can for him. You know that, right?” He nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but the best thing you can do for him is to help him stay calm. Do you understand?”

Justin wanted to scream, to rail at her and tell her that he knew Brian better than her, that he was the one who had spent the last five years with him, loving him and needing him and fucking _understanding_ him. Mostly, he just wanted to scream. But none of this was her fault, and he knew she was right, he couldn’t freak out now – he needed to be strong for him. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know,” he nodded. “I know. Just... don’t give up on him, please?”

“I promise.” She patted his arm, then turned and led the way to Brian. She knelt down as soon as they reached him and Glenn updated her, relaying his latest vitals. She frowned as she read the display on the cardiac monitor. Brian’s eyes were closed and his breathing was rapid and shallow, even on 100% oxygen. She glanced at the monitor again – she had really hoped not to have to bag him before they moved him. His oxygen level was still acceptable but if it dropped any lower they’d have no choice. She prepped doses of several different meds and set them aside, and then bent over him.

“Brian?” She waited for him to open his eyes and smiled down at him. “How are you doing?” The snort she heard through the mask was reassuring. “Yeah, sorry. ”

“Still hurts like a motherfucker.” And it did – his body felt like it didn’t fit in his skin any more. It hurt to breathe and his head was going to explode. His legs didn’t hurt at all but that didn’t really make him feel any better.

Nancy nodded, “I know. I’m going to give you something for that now.” She injected one of the meds as she spoke. The other two were drugs to help counteract the effects of possible crush syndrome and would be administered just before they moved him. She checked the lines and the monitor once more and then tucked the blanket back around him. “I brought someone back with me,” she said softly. She maneuvered herself out of the way and let Justin take her place. She watched Brian’s face as the blond knelt beside him and knew she’d made the right decision.

The cloud of pain in his eyes seemed to lift just a little and his lips curved into a smile she could see even through the mask. She moved to the wall and Glenn slid as far back as the IV lines would allow to give them what privacy they could. Brian’s good arm slipped out from under the blanket and he lifted his hand in a little wave before he let it rest on Justin’s thigh.

“Hey, Sunshine.”

“Don’t call me Sunshine. And fuck you, asshole. We had a date!” Justin fought to keep the catch out of his voice without much success.

“Little twat. You know I don’t do dates.” Brian said the words with as much scorn as he could muster, but his fingers laced with Justin’s as he spoke them. He squeezed them tight and Justin felt as though he was squeezing his heart instead.

Justin's throat ached with tears he’d swore he wouldn’t cry and he brushed Brian’s hair back off his face with his free hand. He bent and kissed his damp forehead, so pale and cold against his lips. “Jesus Christ, Brian.” He couldn’t help it – a tear spilled over and splashed onto Brian’s cheek. He kept his mouth pressed to him while he swallowed the deluge that threatened to follow, then raised his head again. Brian let go of his hand and reached up to trace his thumb over the trail of tears, then let it brush against Justin's lips as though returning the kiss the only way he could.

Justin covered Brian’s hand with his own and pressed his lips into it before he lowered them both again. Brian seemed to be studying him and Justin’s heart broke a little more as he looked down into immeasurably sad eyes.

“What are you doing here?”

Justin’s eyes narrowed at the unexpected question until he realized what Brian was really asking. “I... I wasn’t here, Brian. I was on my way to the airport...” Justin saw the relief that he knew Brian could never express in words chase away some of the sadness. His eyes were dry - he was too dehydrated for tears - but his voice was thick with them when he spoke.

“Me too.” His fingers clenched around Justin’s hand and he repeated the words – it was suddenly vital that Justin understood that, and he searched his face for confirmation.

“I know,” Justin whispered and pulled his hand back up and wrapped it in both of his before he kissed the slender fingers. “I know you were.” He felt him shivering against his lips and gently lowered Brian’s arm and tucked the warming blanket around him again. Brian was quiet for a moment while he regrouped and then he spoke again, his voice still distressed.

“What about the rest of them? Michael...”

“He’s fine, they’re all fine. Don’t worry about them.” He saw Brian’s eyebrows knit skeptically. “I promise, Brian, everybody is okay.” Justin told the white lie without compunction – he had no intention of telling him about Debbie or his mother, or anything else that might upset him. He was just grateful that Brian seemed to accept it and his forehead smoothed again.

“Good. That’s good.” He closed his eyes again – the effort it took to speak seemed to drain what little energy he had, and Justin watched with a morbid kind of awe as he appeared to gather himself for another round. When he opened his eyes again they were dark and determined and he fixed them on Justin’s troubled blue ones. He ran his tongue over his parched lips and beckoned him closer. “Come here, Justin.” Something in the sound of his name on Brian’s tongue sent a shiver of fear through Justin. Brian rarely called him by his name unless he was pissed, being sarcastic, or about to tell him something he didn’t want to hear. Still, Justin lowered his head until they were nearly face to face and Brian’s gaze softened, grew almost... _jesuschrist..._ wistful?

“Justin, I...” Justin suddenly knew what Brian was going to say and he cut him off in a panic.

“NO!” Brian’s eyes went wide, the words frozen on his tongue in surprise at Justin’s vehemence. “No fucking way, Brian. Not like this.” Justin shook his head almost angrily. “Don’t you fucking _dare.”_ He knew with absolute certainty that Brian was about to tell him what he’d waited nearly five long years to hear, and it scared him more than anything else he could have possibly said or done. Brian was going to tell him he loved him, because he believed it was his last chance. “No way, Brian. You’re not getting off that easy. I want champagne and candlelight and...” his voice broke and the tears he’d been fighting spilled over and ran down his cheeks. He impatiently swiped them away with the back of his hand and continued, “...and fucking caviar, and some god damn mother-fucking red roses! So just don’t, okay? _Don’t.”_

Brian moved his hand out from under the blanket again. He slipped it behind Justin’s neck without breaking their gaze and pulled him closer still. He smiled despite himself. It was pretty fucking ironic that he had probably never felt as much love for this kid as he did at that moment. “You are such a fucking princess.” He squeezed his neck and pulled him down in an awkward embrace and just held him there.

Justin only pulled away when he felt a light tap on his arm and he craned his neck to look up at Nancy, who was looking down at them with suspiciously wet eyes herself. “I’m sorry, but they’re just about ready. I need to prep him.” Justin’s stomach clenched hard, or maybe it was his heart, but he nodded. The paramedic squeezed Justin’s shoulder sympathetically. “Just a few more minutes,” she said softly, and then stepped back again.

Brian clutched loosely at  the front of Justin’s jacket and tugged him forward. “Listen to me, Justin... are you listening?” Justin could only nod – suddenly all of the paramedic’s warnings were echoing in his head, so loudly he could hardly hear Brian over them. “I want you to do something for me.” Justin started to shake his head again but Brian tightened his grip on his jacket and shook him lightly. “Cut that the fuck out. I need you to listen to me.”

His heart was breaking into little pieces but Justin found his voice somehow. “I’m listening.”

Brian opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He grimaced and then with as deep a breath as he could manage, he let go of Justin's jacket and pulled the oxygen mask off his face and set it aside.

“Brian!” Nancy stepped forward instantly but Brian held his hand up to her.

“Fuck off.”

Every ounce of her training compelled her to put the mask back on him, but somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She stepped back and fixed her eyes on the monitor, already forgotten by the man laying at her feet.

Brian’s hand was on Justin’s neck again and he pulled him down until their foreheads were touching. He closed his eyes and held him like that for a long moment and then kissed him softly and let him go. Justin sat back enough to look into his face, though he could barely see through the haze of tears in his eyes. Without the oxygen Brian’s breathing was already noticeably more labored and though his voice was weaker, it was resolute. “I want you to promise that you’ll stay in Gus’s life.” Justin let out a little sob, tried to object, but Brian cut him off. “Look out for him for me.”

“No...” Justin shook his head, not rejecting the request but the implication. “Brian, no. You’ll be... you’re not...”

“Please, Justin...” Two words, softly spoken, but they stopped Justin’s protest as surely as if he’d slapped him. "Don't let him forget me."  Brian’s eyes narrowed with an ache that had nothing to do with the pain in his body. "Promise me.”

 _No, no, no, no, no!!_ The tears flowed unchecked down Justin’s face now. He wanted to scream at him, to shake him and make him take it back. He searched the hazel eyes for something, anything that would let him refuse, but all he found was an urgent need for reassurance, and though it gutted him to do it, he whispered the terrible oath. “I promise.”

Brian relaxed some then. “Good.” He nodded, but then his lips turned inward and he winced. Whatever the paramedic had given him had taken the edge off the pain for a few minutes, but he felt it clawing its way up now, tearing at him with every breath. He closed his eyes for a moment and pushed it back down, and then opened them to find Justin shaking with silent tears. The little twat was trying so hard to be brave for him. He always was the strong one – he probably should have told him that. He reached up and stroked the blond hair and was happy to find it as soft as he remembered. That was good, too. “Look after Michael for me, okay? You know how pathetic he can be.”

“Brian, Jesus...” Justin’s voice was rough from the effort it took not to cry and he had to swallow hard before he could go on. “I will... but now you have to promise me something.” He combed his fingers through Brian’s damp hair, smoothing it back from his face. “Promise me you’re going to be okay.”

Brian looked into the ocean blue eyes, bright with tears and pulled him down again. He kissed him hard and then pressed his lips to Justin’s ear as he wrapped his arm around the young blond’s shoulders and held him as tightly as he could. “Can’t do that, Sunshine.”

Justin lost it then, sobs wracking his thin frame as Brian held him. His weight was excruciating on his damaged body but Brian barely felt it, measured against the pain of feeling Justin break in his arms. Fuck it. He brought his mouth to Justin’s ear again. “I love you.” Justin lifted his head up at that and Brian brushed his fingers over his face, letting them rest on the tear stained cheek. “I love you, Justin.”

The whispered words were enough to stop his tears, his breath, his heart. Justin said the only thing he could. “I know.”

And then Nancy was beside them again. “It’s time.” She picked up the oxygen mask and Brian let her replace it without argument, and then she turned to Justin. “You’re going to have to step back now, Justin.” She was afraid they might have to physically move him, but he surprised her by nodding his head. He lifted Brian’s hand to his lips and kissed the palm of it almost reverently, then folded the long fingers down with a gentle squeeze and let go. He stood up and backed out of the way, but his eyes never left Brian’s and Brian’s never left his. Not when Nancy lifted him gently and repositioned the backboard under him. Not when she administered the two syringes of meds to his IV line. Not even when she took the blanket off him to give them unrestricted access the moment he was freed and Justin saw the true extent of the devastation inflicted on his beautiful Brian.

He fought the bile that rose in his throat and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling down, but still he never broke eye contact with Brian – never let him be alone in his pain and fear for even one second. When they were ready, Nancy moved to his head, while Glenn positioned himself at Brian’s feet, ready to move as soon as the weight was off him. She signaled Matt with a nod and watched the two men exchange a last, tremulous smile. She saw rather than heard Justin’s lips form a single word, and then watched Brian respond in kind. _‘Later.’_

The next few minutes passed in a kind of surreal time warp for Justin, at once endless and over too soon. Six of the bigger firefighters stood around the perimeter of the section of catwalk they’d cut loose, there to make sure nothing shifted as they inflated the airbags that lifted the offending metal off Brian. Justin bit down on his knuckles hard enough to draw blood at the sound Brian made as the pressure was finally removed from his ruined legs and the real price of his injuries made itself known. In the days to come, Justin would never be able to decide which was worse: the agonized sound of Brian’s screams, or the cruel, empty silence when he stopped. He only knew that he would never forget either one for as long as he lived.

Both the paramedics moved with amazing speed and skill. They slid the backboard under Brian the moment he was freed and went to work, splinting his legs; packing the awful wounds with wet, sterile dressings; wrapping him in the warming blanket again before they lifted him onto the gurney. He lost consciousness as they were strapping him down and Justin stopped breathing right along with him until Glenn replaced the oxygen mask with an Ambu-bag and began squeezing air into him again. Nancy held the IV bags, and a firefighter carried the monitor at his side while two more carried the gurney through the rubble and down the stairs to the waiting ambulance. Justin followed, desperately trying not to think about the dark crimson stain that blossomed through the pale blue blanket.

He stood to the side as they loaded him into the ambulance, vaguely aware that Carl and Ben and Emmett were there, waiting and watching in solemn disbelief. It was Emmett who stepped forward and quickly put his arms around Justin and hugged him fiercely, murmuring words of comfort that barely registered. He did hear Ben’s offer to drive him to the hospital as he climbed into the ambulance behind the paramedics, only acknowledging him after he was inside and seated on the small bench. “I’m going with him.”

As soon as the doors shut, they were rolling. Glenn continued on the Ambu-bag while Nancy hung new IV’s and replaced the saline with two units of blood. She was on the radio with Allegheny Emerg, relaying his condition to the trauma specialist waiting there when his heart rate began to climb and an alarm sounded on the monitor. She was on it instantly, retrieving a prepared syringe from the case at her feet and injecting it into his line. The alarm stopped after a minute, and she was listening to his chest when it went crazy again, two different tones blaring from it as warning lights and numbers on the display flashed ominously. His blood pressure was bottoming out as his heart rate spiked and she could barely get a pulse.

“Damnit!” His IV’s were both wide open but he was bleeding out and they were still fifteen minutes from the hospital. She pulled the blanket down and swore at the sight of the thick gauze pads soaked scarlet and seeping around the splint. He needed a central line, but his chest was too damaged for a sub-clavian. She looked up at Glenn and shook her head - she had no choice. She took the collar off him and grabbed a CVA kit. Any potential neck injury wasn’t going to matter if he bled out right there. She quickly wiped his neck and shoulder down with antiseptic and Glenn removed the Ambu-bag to position Brian’s head so she could access the vein. Nancy tore open the package with the small needle she would need to introduce the catheter and was about to proceed when another alarm sounded on the monitor, this one a rapid, high-pitched beep. “No pulse. _God damnit!”_

Justin watched silently, too numb with fear to even cry now. He didn’t need medical training to know the erratic wavy lines on the monitor were very, very wrong. To know that words like ‘V-tach’ were bad, or to hold his breath and pray when Nancy grabbed the paddles from the machine beside her and set it for 200 joules. “Clear!” It wasn’t like on T.V. Brian didn’t arch off the gurney – it was more like his whole body clenched and Justin wondered if it hurt him. He hoped not. Glenn squeezed air into his lungs while the alarm continued to beep. “Clear!” She shocked him again and waited. The pattern on the monitor changed and Nancy cursed.

“He’s in V-fib!” She prepared the paddles a third time and ordered Glenn clear, then shocked him again. “Come on, Brian. Come _on!”_ The waves on the monitor were barely a squiggle. “Raise it to 360.”

With every shock, Brian’s already broken body seized and then fell limp, and Justin prayed that he couldn’t feel it. That they weren’t torturing him in their efforts to save him. He wanted to scream at her to stop almost as much as he wanted to beg her to never give up.

Nancy frowned at the monitor – he was in fine V-fib now. She couldn’t shock him again without CPR and the thought of compressing his already damaged chest was intolerable. She glanced up at Justin as she began and her heart went out to him, as devastated in his own way as the man she was trying so hard to save. Justin flinched with every thrust as though it were his own heart being assaulted and Nancy remembered her promise to him. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would ask the same of her now.

She instructed Glenn to give him a milligram of epinephrine and counted off the compressions as she watched the waves on the monitor react to her efforts. As her count neared 150 she ordered Glenn to charge the paddles again. When they were ready she stepped back and let him administer the shock. The monitor spiked from the pulse and then returned to a feeble, wavy line. She called for more epi and moved to resume compressions when the beeping changed to the steady, unbroken tone of asystole. The sound was echoed by another - an anguished cry of pain, not from the patient, but from the young blond. The sound of a lover’s heart breaking.

Nancy began CPR again as Justin moved to Brian’s side. She didn’t try to stop him and when he met the paramedic’s sympathetic eyes, something inside him broke. The tears came again, falling silently as he took Brian’s still hand in both of his and held on. The wail of the siren, Nancy’s rhythmic counting of beats, the controlled chaos of the ambulance bay as they arrived at the hospital – all of that faded to white noise. Justin’s world shrank around him until there was only this. Brian. Justin. The flat, green line on the monitor and that sound – the sound of everything slipping away.

 


	4. Part Four

**Justin**

Justin stood in front of his closet trying to decide what to wear from the array of outfits that hung on the back of the door. He turned to the boy sitting cross legged on the bed with his book spread across his lap. “What do you think?”

Gus set _‘The Enormous Crocodile’_ aside and tilted his head thoughtfully. His big brown eyes narrowed briefly at the choices, then he looked up at Justin with his lips pulled firmly into his teeth. Even at six years old, Gus looked enough like his father to break Justin's heart on a regular basis. He felt an unexpected sting of tears but they were quickly chased away by the young man’s confident pronouncement.

“I like the ’mani, Jus.”

Justin smiled in spite of himself – the ‘mani’ was his charcoal Armani suit and clearly the most sophisticated of the three outfits. Gus truly was his father’s son. He ruffled the mop of unruly brown hair. “You’ve got pretty good taste for a kid.” Gus rolled his eyes and this time Justin laughed out loud – his name might be Gus Petersen-Marcus, but the kid was all Kinney.

“I’m not a kid, Jus. I’m almost _seven_.”

Jesus, he was right. In a few months Gus would be seven years old. Seven years since... The tears sprang back into Justin’s eyes and he had to turn away. Damn. It had been a long time since he’d cried over Brian – not that he ever left his thoughts for very long, but he mostly remembered him with a smile. He supposed it was inevitable that today of all days he might be a little emotional. But he didn’t have time for that now. He gave himself a mental shake and swallowed the lump in his throat, then turned back to Gus and smiled again. “Come on, kiddo. You need to get ready too. Your moms are going to be here soon.”

Gus got up off the bed and put his book back in the side pocket of his little suitcase, then opened it up and took out his own dress-up clothes. Justin watched him pad off to the bathroom to change with a sigh. It still amazed him just how much like Brian he was, and in ways that couldn’t possibly be ‘nurture’. It wasn’t just his looks – he was fastidious about his things, always hanging up his clothes and putting his toys and books away when he was finished with them. And he wasn’t shy about showing his displeasure when people, especially his sister, who was his polar opposite, did something he didn’t like. But there were other ways in which he was completely different than his father. He was quick to laugh, affectionate and loving, always ready with a hug or a kiss. It made Justin wonder if Brian was that way at his age, too. Or might have been, if not for Jack and Joan. The thought made him sigh again, and he gave himself another shake. Today was about celebrating Brian and he was not going to let thoughts of his so-called family spoil it.

Justin slipped out of his jeans and tee shirt and into the charcoal gray suit Gus had chosen. He’d picked out a shirt in a slightly darker shade and was buttoning it when the small, framed photograph on the dresser caught his eye. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the glass. Brian’s arm was wrapped around his neck and his mouth was on his ear, no doubt breathing some obscene proposition into it from the giddy smile on Justin’s face. He couldn’t even remember it being taken now, but he could feel that strong arm around him like it was yesterday, feel his warm breath on his skin. Justin looked up at his reflection in the mirror and was almost surprised that Brian wasn’t in there with him. He was startled out of his reverie by the small voice at his side.

“Jus, can you help me?” Gus stood fumbling with his tie and Justin had to blink away yet another memory. His voice was rough with it when he set the photo back in its place and turned to the boy.

“Sure, Gus.” He fitted the tie under Gus’s collar and when he had it tied and snug, he turned him towards the mirror, then smoothed his own jacket. Justin allowed himself one more glance at the photograph and then smiled at the image in the mirror. Brian would be proud.

~*~*~

“Mama!” Gus flung himself at Lindsay the moment she was through the door. “Look what I made today!” He clutched a drawing in his hand – a surprisingly good likeness of Batman, his latest obsession. “Jus showed me how to make his ears look right.”

“Jus _tin,_ ” Lindsay corrected him more out of habit than reproach - they had been ‘Gus and Jus’ to him forever now. She smiled down at her son and took the drawing from him. “That’s wonderful, baby.” And it was. Gus had shown a natural talent for drawing since the first time he’d picked up a crayon and the time he spent with Justin only fostered it. She handed the picture back to him and he beamed up at her and Justin, who had followed him to the door.

“Can I do another one, Jus?” Justin nodded and Lindsay cautioned him to be careful of his suit and they both watched him hurry back to Justin’s drawing board and climb up on the stool, the adults already forgotten as he picked up a pencil.

“Thanks for watching him, Justin. He loves spending the night here.” Lindsay chuckled softly at the empty popcorn bowls and juice boxes strewn around the entertainment center, along with several DVD cases - evidence of a six-year-old’s invasion of the otherwise pristine loft. She went around picking them up as Justin answered her.

“You know I love having him around. I wish it could be more often. Maybe now...” Justin cut the thought off there – he knew he was lucky to have the time he did with Gus. The last year especially had been incredibly busy, and time was a luxury he never took for granted any more. Between classes and his art and their project, he’d barely had a moment to call his own. But tonight would be the culmination of all his work, all their work, and the thought filled him with satisfaction. He waited for Lindsay to come back from the kitchen and poured them each a glass of wine from the cart that was set out and ready for his guests. “Is everything ready?” She took the Chardonnay from him, nodding.

“Everything’s ready, and it’s wonderful, Justin. You should be very proud.”

He shook his head, “No, we should be proud. I couldn’t have done it alone, Lindsay.” She smiled a quiet ‘thank you’ and clinked her glass to his.

“To us.”

Justin returned the smile, but it was sadder, more poignant. “To Brian.”

Lindsay’s eyes fell to her glass and she twirled it self-consciously, a little embarrassed Justin had to be the one to say it. But Justin reached out and squeezed her hand and the moment passed. He glanced at his watch and then back at Lindsay.

“Where’s Mel?”

“She’s dropping J.R. at the sitter’s and then she had a meeting. She’ll probably have to meet us there. Emmett said he’d be here soon though. He was just going over some last minute details with Darren when I left.”

Justin nodded, pleased to hear it. ‘Auntie Em’s’ party planning and catering business had really taken off over the last couple years and he was always booked months in advance. He had a full time staff of four planners and Darren was the head chef, but of course Emmett had insisted on taking care of this event personally and Justin was glad – he wanted everything to be perfect. Right on cue, there was a quick knock on the door, followed by a cheerful ‘yoohoooo’ as Emmett breezed into the loft. Justin grinned at his friend’s appearance - he was clearly ready for the evening, looking fabulous in dark pants and a jacket over what appeared to be a chartreuse spandex tee shirt. He was fully made up, right down to the glittering eyeliner that Justin had to admit complemented his deep-blue eyes. He greeted Lindsay and kissed Justin on each cheek and then was off, oohing and ahhing over Gus’s latest masterpiece, much to the young man’s delight. The door was still open when Jennifer and Tuck arrived and more hugs were exchanged. Justin showed them in and served more drinks, and he was chatting with his mother when they heard the groan of the elevator.

A minute later the sliding door opened again and the rest of his ‘family’ blew in like a small but powerful tornado: Ben and Hunter, Teddy and Blake, and Carl. All led, of course, by Debbie, dressed for the occasion in a tasteful-for-her red ensemble that to Justin’s ever-lasting gratitude did _not_ involve any spandex or glitter. Clearly, marriage had been a good influence on her. Despite her assertion that she wouldn’t get married until her son could, she was now Mrs. Carl Horvath. After the tragedy at Babylon and her close call, it just seemed foolish, even selfish, not to make her commitment to the man she loved while they could. And so, with the blessing of her son and all of Liberty Avenue, they got married in a small ceremony the following summer. They weren’t the only ones to reevaluate their lives after the bombing, either. If anything good at all had come from that hateful day, it was that. Melanie and Lindsay reconciled; Teddy found Blake again and the timing finally seemed to be right for them; even Hunter had come home when he heard the news, and this time he stayed.

But the lessons learned that day about life and love and priorities had come at a terrible price – had cost one of them everything.

Justin watched the loft fill up with his extended family, accepted their hugs and kisses and returned them sincerely. But he knew that as much as he loved them all, as genuinely glad as he was that things had worked out for them, and as proud as he was of what he had accomplished, he would trade all of it in an instant if he could only go back and change that one thing.

It didn’t crush him now like it had in the beginning; he could function again – work, eat, sleep (most of the time anyway). His art was fulfilling and he considered himself, if not exactly happy, then at least a reasonable facsimile of it. But not a single day went by that he didn’t wish that he had that power. Some days he wanted it so badly he couldn’t see anything else. He wasn’t completely alone in that wish though. While the bombing had brought Mel and Lindz closer, reinforced their commitment to each other, Michael and Ben, well...

Justin saw him standing alone, watching Hunter and Gus, who were already loudly engaged in some intense game on the XBox. Justin went to the drink cart and picked up a bottle of juice, then took another look at the older man and noticed the unhappy set of his jaw. He put the juice back and poured a measure of the Maker’s Mark he knew Ben liked on occasion and took it over to him, asking the question he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to.

“Where’s Michael?” Ben took the drink Justin offered and shrugged. Justin recognized the defeated gesture for what it was and softened his tone. “Do you think he’s going to show up?”

Ben shrugged again, blowing out a long, frustrated sigh before he spoke. “I really don’t know, Justin.” He downed the shot of bourbon in one swallow and looked at Justin with tired, empty eyes. “And to be honest? I’m not so sure I care anymore.” He set the glass down firmly on the counter and walked away, headed for the door. Justin followed, but Ben was quicker and he was already at the elevator by the time he caught up.

“Wait, Ben.” Justin put his hand on the bigger man’s arm. “Come on.” Ben resisted for a second, but then let Justin pull him towards the doorway that led to the roof and followed him up the narrow stairway. It was quiet up there except for the unsteady hum of the ancient air conditioning unit and the faint sound of traffic from the street below. Justin pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket; he didn’t smoke very often any more – usually only when he was stressed out or really drunk. Since the potential for either of those conditions had been pretty high lately, he was prepared. He lit two and offered one to Ben. He hesitated and Justin cocked his head, practically daring him, and he took it with a shrug. They smoked in silence for a while, leaning against the railing and looking out over the city. Ben took a last drag from the cigarette then crushed it under his heel and blew out a long stream of smoke. He didn’t look at Justin, just spoke quietly into the late afternoon air.

“I don’t know what to do any more.”

“Is he still drinking?”

Ben nodded. “Yeah, but that’s not the problem. He’s not a fall-down drunk – it’s not like I have to worry about him burning the house down or anything. He’s just so damn...” he hesitated, searching.

“Pathetic?” Justin interjected the word automatically and drew a sideways look from Ben, but they both smiled a little. Ben’s faded quickly though and he shook his head.

“He’s broken, Justin, and nothing I do, nothing anybody does seems to make a difference. He can’t, or he _won’t_ let it go.”

Ben could still see Michael’s face when he’d walked out earlier – not quite drunk, but on his way, staring at him with those puppy-dog eyes, refusing to come with them because he felt somehow unworthy. So wounded, yet so oblivious to the pain he was causing those who loved him the most. _‘Two years, Michael. It’s been two fucking years, and I’m done.’_ He’d slammed the door hard enough to rattle it on its hinges and left him standing there. He had tried to be understanding, to give him time – but he’d long since lost the ability to be Zen about the utter fucking irony of the fact that Brian was a far bigger threat to him in death than he ever was in life. In life, Brian could fuck up, piss Michael off, even make him hate him at times. But now he could never do anything wrong again. Not more wrong than leaving Michael behind, and Michael couldn’t seem to forgive Brian, or himself for that.

“I love him Justin, but I can’t compete with a ghost. I’m tired of trying.” Ben hunched his shoulders and held them there for a long moment, the gesture somehow seemed even more defeated on such a big man.

Ben’s declaration hung in the air between them like a specter. Justin knew from Mel that they’d been having problems, but he didn’t realize things had gotten this bad. Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it. Most of the time he spent around Michael was either at the diner, or Woody’s, or Sunday dinners at Deb’s. He was chatty, dorky, occasionally hilarious, always corny. Generally, he was, well... Michael. As long as nobody mentioned Brian. It was never anything overt – no crying or throwing himself on the ground – he would just... go away. Deflate. As if he’d forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be happy and talking about Brian reminded him of that fact. And with Justin it was worse – nothing he could really put his finger on, just the sense that Michael was always waiting, expecting... needing something from him. Whether it was anger or absolution, Justin could never quite decide. And the simple truth was he had never been able to bring himself to grant him either one. As time went on he found it more and more difficult to be around Michael, and Ben knew it, too. He was lost for a moment, his whispered promise to Brian echoing in his head. "I'm sorry..."

“It's not your fault, Justin." The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized that it wasn't him Justin was apologizing to. Ben regarded his young friend solemnly. “Michael can’t let go of the guilt and it’s eating him up. He still feels responsible...”

Justin met the older man’s troubled gaze with one of his own and uttered the words he’d never been able to say aloud before. “He’s not wrong, Ben.” Ben’s face narrowed at Justin’s quiet admission and despite everything, his first instinct was to defend Michael.

“That’s bullshit, Justin. There’s no way he could have...”

But Justin cut him off. “He _is_ responsible.” He chewed on his lips for a second, “But he’s not the only one. We all did our share of hurting Brian, didn’t we?”  The words were simple enough, but for Justin they represented a truth he’d been avoiding for a long time. He looked at his watch – he still had a couple of hours. “I have to go out for a while. Can you let them know I’ll meet them there? My mother has a key, she can lock up.” Ben nodded and before he could ask him why, Justin was on his way down the stairs. On his way to a conversation that was long overdue.

~*~*~

Justin knocked for the second time on the front door of Michael and Ben’s house. “Michael?” He listened, but still didn’t hear any signs of movement so he went around back and tried there. “Michael! Would you open the fucking door?!” Nothing. He pounded on it for a solid minute, then cursed and walked back around to his SUV. He tried Michael’s cell, and then the number at Debbie’s but got no answer at either. He really wanted to do the right thing, but was rapidly losing patience. Woody’s maybe? It was a little early for that, but maybe... He pulled up in front and ran in – no luck there, or the diner either. ‘Fuck you, Michael,’ he muttered under his breath. He got back in the SUV, fully intent on going back home when the thought occurred to him. Justin made a U-turn and headed for the very last place on earth he expected to be today – the last place he wanted to be, ever. And he really, really wanted to be wrong.

His stomach clenched as he turned into the wide driveway and passed through the wrought iron gates. He’d only been here once and that day he only recalled in fragments, when he let himself remember at all - and yet he knew exactly where to go. He followed the winding road past rows and rows of markers, almost all the way to the point where it began to circle back, and then turned up a small hill and pulled over to the side. Brian’s stone was not the largest or the flashiest, but like the man himself, it stood out because it was sleek and elegant and once you saw it, everything else around it just looked... ordinary. _Brian A. Kinney_ , and beneath that, the words Justin himself had chosen. Words he’d never seen until this moment, carved into the gleaming black stone. And sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of it with his head in his hands was the man who’d once called him his best friend.

Justin's throat constricted with an unexpected sob as he read the inscription and he swallowed against it. _Please, not today._ He’d spent two years diligently protecting his memories, culling them, choosing to remember only the best. It wasn’t an act of denial. It was simple self-preservation. But as he sat there looking at Michael, as broken as that very first day, he felt the wall he’d so carefully constructed begin to crumble. The years dissolved and he was back there again.

*~*~*

He stood just inside the trauma room doors, watching, waiting. He wasn’t even sure for what, because he knew Brian was gone. Knew from the moment he’d taken his hand in the ambulance. There had never been a time when touching Brian didn’t cause some kind of reaction in Justin – passion, desire, comfort, sometimes even fear. In fact it was where the name Kinnetik had come from - Brian’s innate ability to move everything and everyone around him. To make them feel his energy, for better or worse. Justin had felt it from the very first moment – so vibrant, so enigmatic. The most completely _alive_ person he’d ever known. Holding his hand in the ambulance he’d felt only... stillness.

The paramedics transferred Brian’s care over to the trauma team and Nancy backed away only after the intern’s hands replaced hers on his chest. She stripped off the gloves she wore, still slick with Brian’s blood and cursed a mild oath as she slammed them into the disposal in frustration. He must have made some kind of sound because she turned then, her face softening at the sight of the him.

“Justin,” her voice was gentle as she approached him, “you shouldn’t be in here. Let’s wait outside.” She put her arm around his shoulders as if to guide him out but he didn’t budge. He wanted nothing more than to leave, to not watch them cut away the rest of his clothes, not see the horrific injuries, not have the unbearable images burned into his soul forever. He wanted to run and never stop running until he found a place where this wasn’t real. He wanted to do what he had always done. “Justin...”

“I can’t...” He shook his head at the paramedic as though the suggestion was absurd. “I can’t leave him.” _Not again. Never again.  
_  
Nancy pursed her lips, considered insisting, and then their last few minutes at the scene flashed in her mind. She let her arm drop but stayed there by his side. Some days she really hated her job.

Justin had no idea how much time passed – he saw it all through that surreal lens where things sped up and slowed down, seemingly at will. The piles of blood-soaked gauze on the floor around them grew alarmingly fast. The moments following each round of CPR, each injection, each new attempt to get his heart beating again were impossibly long as they waited to see if their efforts failed or succeeded. Another doctor worked at his wounds, barking out orders that Justin heard through that same distorted filter – sounds, but not really words. They watched as the team exhausted every possible measure in their efforts to save him. And then the doctor was standing in front him and had his hand on Justin’s shoulder and the room was quiet except for the words, which really were words again.

“I’m very sorry, son. We did everything we could.” He glanced back at Brian and then squeezed Justin’s shoulder. “Take as much time as you need.” The doctor left the room, and Nancy watched as Justin slowly moved to Brian’s side. A nurse was spreading a clean sheet over him and she stopped as Justin reached for it.

“Let me...” The nurse eyed him sadly, then let Justin take it and stepped away. He pulled it up and let it settle lightly over Brian's bare shoulders, smoothing it gently, then resting his hand on the broad chest. He stood that way for endless minutes, not moving, not crying – just staring at his face. It was smudged with soot and dust, and there were small cuts above his eyebrow and on his cheek, but apart from that he might have been sleeping. Justin loved to wake up early just to watch Brian sleeping – to see him without the mask of indifference he so often wore, just his beautiful face, smooth and serene and perfect. He touched the still lips, brushed his fingers over them, then bent and kissed them softly, oblivious to the tear that spilled over and fell onto the pale cheek. Justin pressed another kiss to Brian’s forehead, and then did the hardest thing he would ever do. He said goodbye.

*~*~*

Emmett and Ben were both waiting when Justin followed Nancy out through the swinging doors of the trauma room. She stopped just before they reached them and turned to Justin. She’d been a paramedic for a long time and had seen her share of unhappy outcomes, but it wasn’t very often she’d been so affected by a case. She wished she knew some magic words that would ease the pain etched into the young man’s face but all she could offer was heartfelt sympathy. “I’m truly sorry, Justin.” For a long moment he just stared at her, then to her surprise he embraced her and she found herself hugging him back. He released her and whispered a husky ‘thank you for everything’ that had her blinking hard before she could speak. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze and nodded, grateful to see his friends approaching. “You take care of yourself.” The taller one was already pulling him into his arms as she walked away.

The scene confirmed what they already suspected and Em hugged him fiercely. “Oh God, baby, I am so sorry.” Em’s big blue eyes were swimming with tears when he finally let Justin breathe again. He still had him by the arms, and was rubbing them up and down, trying not to sob. “Is there anything we can do?” Justin just shook his head and let them lead him to one of the few empty hard plastic chairs in the crowded emergency room waiting area. Ben took the seat beside him and Em kneeled on the floor in front of him, crying openly now. Ben’s voice was quiet and rough with emotion when he finally spoke.

“I don’t know what to say, Justin. It’s just...”

“Unfuckingbelievable,” Emmett interjected when Ben hesitated. “It’s _unfuckingbelievable,_ ” he hissed, his voice shaking with anger. “The fucking monsters who did this need to be...” Ben saw Justin flinch and he silenced Emmett’s rant with a nudge of his foot and shake of his head.

“Not now, Emmett,” he admonished gently, with a pointed glance at the blond. Em looked horrified at the idea that he’d upset him any more than he was and he murmured a teary apology, but Justin didn’t appear to notice.

“Can I get you something, baby?” Justin still didn’t respond, just sat there, staring vacantly at him. “Sweetie? Do you want me to find your mom?” Emmett looked up at Ben, the two men sharing the same concern over their young friend’s state of mind. Ben squeezed Justin’s shoulder and tried himself.

“Justin, do you want us to call someone for you?” Ben felt the sting of tears himself as it struck him that the one person who could help Justin through something like this was gone. Fuck. Justin still didn’t speak, but at least he acknowledged him with a slight shrug and a shake of his head. Ben sat back in his chair with a sigh and scrubbed his face with his hands. Fuck.

“Ben?” The older man looked up at the sound of his name, and into the relieved face of his husband. Michael stood in front of him with a paper cup full of coffee in his hand. “Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re finally here! Ma is driving me fucking crazy. She keeps insisting....” He stopped short as it registered that it was Emmett kneeling on the floor beside him. “Emmett?” And then, “Justin?” He smiled at the discovery of his friends. “What are you guys doing here? You didn’t have to come, Ma’s going to be fine – she’s already complaining about the doctors and threatening to sign herself out if she doesn’t get some decent fucking coffee soon...” Michael’s voice trailed off as he finally took a good look at the faces of the three men. Ben was looking at him with something inexplicably close to fear in his eyes, Emmett’s face was streaked with tears, and Justin... Christ, Justin didn’t even seem to realize he was there. Michael’s stomach did a little flip-flop as it dawned on him – Jennifer. He swallowed hard and lowered his voice. “Oh god, Justin. Did something happen to your mom?” His eyes slid sideways towards the trauma room doors. “I saw her before... I thought she was okay...” Justin didn’t respond, just closed his eyes and pulled his lips inward, biting down hard on them. Michael turned to Ben, his forehead wrinkled in confusion and concern and he barely mouthed the words, “What happened?”

Ben stood slowly and took the coffee from Michael and passed it to Emmett, then pulled Michael into his arms. “I love you, Michael,” he murmured the words into his hair and held him close.

“I love you too, Ben,” Michael mumbled against Ben’s chest, “but what the fuck is going on?”

Ben held him for a long moment then leaned back, looking into the bewildered face he loved so much. “We need to talk.” He took Michael by the arm and led him out through the sliding glass doors of the emergency room exit and into the breezeway. Both boys watched as Ben took Michael’s hands in his and held them tight. They didn’t need to hear them to know the moment he finally got the words out. Michael pulled out of Ben’s grasp and lurched towards the door but Ben grabbed him and held on, forced him to hear words he would rather have cut his tongue out than have to say to his heartbroken partner. Michael turned and looked through the doors then, searching, unwilling to accept what Ben was telling him, until frantic brown eyes met devastated blue ones and he saw the awful truth in them: Brian Kinney was gone, and the only two men he’d ever loved stood on opposite sides of the glass, each missing a piece of themselves that would never be replaced. And Michael saw another truth there, too, or maybe he saw it in his own reflection in the glass and this one hit him like a body blow. He dropped to his knees and Ben went down with him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and holding him as he doubled over in pain.

Justin watched Michael fall apart, could hear his anguish even through the double doors. He wanted to feel pity for him – knew he _should_ feel pity. Michael and Brian had been friends for more than half their lives, almost longer than Justin had been alive. And Brian loved him, he knew that. Truth be told, Justin had come to love him in his own way as well – they were family in that non-defined, non-conventional Kinney way. Losing Brian would be harder on Michael than anyone else, maybe even Justin himself, and he knew that, too. So he knew he should be feeling pity watching him break into little pieces all over the sidewalk, and yet he just... couldn’t. Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe when he stopped hearing Brian’s exasperated voice in his head every time he looked at him. _‘I am on my way to my office... you have five minutes before I’m out of here.'_ Michael might be heartbroken, but he was there, and his partner was there with him. And Brian... Justin felt a cold hand clench his heart and then Emmett’s arm was around him again, his voice full of compassion in his ear.

“Baby, are you all right?”

Justin fought an insane urge to laugh at the idea he could ever be all right again. He tried to force a smile, something to reassure his friend but he just couldn’t make himself do it. He managed to nod, and Emmett reached out and brushed a tear off his cheek with his thumb – tears he didn’t even realize were falling.

“Of course you’re not all right,” Emmett smiled tremulously, inwardly cursing himself for the foolish question. He squeezed Justin’s thin frame, alarmed to feel him trembling even through his bulky jacket. He hadn’t said a word since he and Ben had arrived and he was beginning to worry about him. “Just tell me what I can do, sweetie.”

Justin shook his head, swallowed the bitter words that hovered on his tongue. Can you turn back the clock? Not too far – just a few hours. Just a few fucking hours. Can you do that? Can you turn back time and make Brian not be dead? _Oh god._ Brian is dead. _Brian is dead._ He must have groaned then, because Emmett pulled him closer still. In his head he shrieked the words so loudly he thought he might be losing his mind, but when they finally escaped him, they were barely a whisper. “Brian is dead. _He’s dead._ ”

Emmett’s shoulders sagged as he looked down into the troubled blue eyes, so full of despair. “Oh sweetie, I know, I’m so sorry...” His heart ached for him, but he had no idea how to help his young friend. Justin turned out of his embrace, backed away, repeating the terrible admission. “Justin, let me get someone...”

But Justin was already on his way out the door. Emmett called after him, and Ben reached for his arm as he ran past them and into the cold night, but there was only room in his head for that one thing. He ran without any thought to where he was going, his only goal to escape that one unthinkable, unalterable, unbearable fact.

He ran until his lungs burned and his legs refused to take him even one step further, until his stomach cramped and he finally succumbed to the nausea that had been threatening since he first heard the news bulletin – could it really have only been hours ago? His eyes darted around, anxiously seeking somewhere, anywhere he could... but it hit him hard and mercilessly. He retched up what little there was in his stomach right there on the street, but it didn’t ease the awful ache. He heaved until there was nothing left and then sat down heavily on the curb and hugged his knees up close, trying desperately to keep it together but he just didn’t have anything left to fight with. He managed to find his cell phone and dialed her number with shaking fingers, praying to a God he no longer believed in that she would answer. His last bit of control slipped away when she finally did.

"Justin? Oh, thank god! Where are you?" Her relief at seeing her best friend's name on the call display was short-lived as she heard his small, shattered voice on the other end.

"Daph... help me."

*~*~*

 **Daphne**

Daphne’s first memory of Justin Taylor was of a slight, blond-headed boy, barely as tall as she was, with bright blue eyes and a wide, toothy smile. Of course his smile was a little crooked that day, thanks to the fat lip he boasted – a battle scar he was proud to have earned defending the new girl from the schoolyard bullies. They fell a little bit in love that day and though it would take a few more years to figure out just what kind of love it was, a lifelong friendship was born. They had always been there for each other and she had seen him through some of the worst days of his life. The pain of his father’s rejection; the awful days after the bashing when he was traumatized not just by the things he could remember, but by what he couldn’t; his brush with crazy when he’d shaved his head and declared himself a vigilante. But nothing prepared her for the broken man she found huddled up on the sidewalk, barely able to make it to her car under his own power. He was pale and shivering and looked like death warmed over and her first instinct was to take him back to the hospital – she might only be in her junior year of pre-med, but she knew what shock looked like and he scared the shit out of her. But just the mention of it had him threatening to get out of the car, so she buckled him in, cranked up the heat and headed for her apartment.

She still couldn’t wrap her mind around it. She’d been studying all night, buried in books and papers and oblivious to the world around her. So when his friend Emmett called, frantic to find him, she was clueless. Why would Justin be with her? He was on his way to Australia. God, he’d been so happy when he called her that afternoon and now... a bomb? A fucking bomb? Jennifer was in the hospital and Brian... Jesus, Brian Kinney, dead? Oh god, Justin... Justin was missing and he wasn’t answering his phone. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing and she turned on the tv even as she promised Emmett she would call if she heard from him. She hung up and dialed Justin’s cell as she flipped through channels – it was too late for local news but maybe it was a big enough story to make one of the 24 hour news networks. It came on while she was cursing his ‘voice mailbox full’ message. She set the phone down and turned up the volume and watched in disbelief as the anchor introduced the story.

 _This was the scene earlier tonight outside Babylon, a popular dance club in the heart of Pittsburgh’s gay district where a fundraiser was underway to help raise support for Stop Prop 14, a grass-roots initiative to fight anti-gay legislation in Pennsylvania. Local reporter Sam Rollins joins us now._ The young black reporter stood bathed in flashing red and blue lights and speculated about bombs and Prop 14 and acts of domestic terrorism. No one had yet claimed responsibility but there were already small groups of people with hate-filled signs gathered at the edges of the crowd of onlookers. A buzz rippled through them when Drew Boyd appeared and the reporter walked along side him as the football hero scanned the crowd, obviously looking for someone.

“Drew Boyd, having just come out of the closet, how do you feel about what’s happening here? Are you concerned about losing your fans now that you’re gay?”

A more discerning person might have recognized the look on the quarterback’s face for what it was and backed off, but the reporter shoved the mic in the big man’s face. Drew showed amazing self-restraint in only grabbing the clod by the jacket when what he really wanted to do was grab him by the throat.

“Right now I’m more concerned about people losing their lives.” Drew bit the words off and released the reporter with a little shove. He might not have stopped there, but then he spotted the man he’d been looking for and walked away without another thought for the reporter or the cameras tracking him. “Emmett!”

The reporter shook off the encounter and faced the camera again, shifting the story to the scores of injured, the official death toll now at nine and expected to rise. And rumored to be among them, club owner and prominent member of Pittsburgh’s gay community, Brian Kinney, whose condition was as yet unconfirmed. The footage switched to a stretcher being loaded into an ambulance. Surrounded by emergency personnel, wrapped in blankets, and with his face obscured by the oxygen mask there was no way to identify the victim, but Daphne didn’t need a name. The pale blond climbing into the ambulance behind the stretcher said it all. The anchor appeared again, thanking Sam for his contribution and then added her own coda to the story. It had been confirmed just moments earlier that the tenth victim of what they were already calling a hate-crime in Pittsburgh was indeed entrepreneur Brian Kinney. There were, as yet, no suspects in the case.

Daphne had clicked off the television and sat in stunned silence, trying to absorb what she’d seen. Babylon in ruins. Brian Kinney, dead. The idea of it was so abhorrent she just couldn’t process it - and Justin... dear God, Justin. She said a small prayer of thanks that he was alive – Emmett said he wasn’t there, wasn’t hurt. She felt the sting of bitter tears at that – as if there were any possible way to hurt Justin more deeply than this. When her phone rang she nearly cried with relief until she heard his voice, and relief quickly changed to fear. It took everything just to get his location out of him before he hung up again, and she didn’t take another easy breath until she found him and had him safely in her car. Even then she drove with one eye on the road and one on him, huddled against the door and staring vacantly out the window as they made the short trip back to her apartment.

Justin seemed to be operating on instinct more than anything else as he followed her up the stairs. She tried not to react to his appearance but it broke her heart just to look at him. The familiar blue eyes were clouded with pain and though he looked right at her, they were unfocused and distant and Daphne hoped she hadn’t made a mistake bringing him here instead of the hospital. His clothes were covered with soot and dust; swaths of pale white skin, wiped clean with tears, cut through the dark smudges on his face and made his pallor all the more striking. He let her undo his jacket and slip it off his trembling shoulders and she pulled him into an impulsive hug before taking him by the arm again.

“Come on,” she whispered the words over the knot in her throat. Daphne toed off her shoes and waited while he did the same, then led him to the sofa. She had an old quilt folded across the back of it and she took it down and wrapped it around him, then sat down beside him. She reached out and wiped a smudge of soot from his forehead with her thumb. He was still shaking – she hoped it was only from the cold. “Do you want to have a shower?” He shook his head. “Something to eat? I had pizza earlier, there’s some left over...” But he refused that as well, his eyes darting around the room as though searching for something.

“I.. I could use a drink,” he said finally. Daphne chewed her lip, debating whether alcohol was wise but he stuck out a hand and squeezed her arm. “I’m all right, Daph.” His puny voice belied the words, but she felt like he needed to believe it, so she nodded and got up and went to the cupboard below the sink. Daphne rarely drank anything stronger than beer, but thankfully her last roommate had left a nearly-full bottle of Remy Martin behind when she moved out. She brought that and two glasses back to the sofa and poured them each an inch of the cognac. Justin took his and downed it in one swallow with barely a blink. She raised her eyebrows when he held the glass back out to her, but he seemed to relax some, so she poured him another. He sat back with it, pulling the quilt closer around himself and took a smaller sip of the amber liquid. Daphne did the same and they sat in silence while she searched fruitlessly for words to tell him how sorry she was.

Justin emptied his glass again and set it down with a sigh. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and then stared at it for a moment, seeming to realize at last how grimy he was. “Maybe I should clean up,” he said softly, looking down at his clothes before shrugging off the blanket. He wobbled slightly as he stood and Daphne followed him into the bathroom. She turned the hot water on to warm up and he didn’t resist her help as she pulled his tee-shirt up and over his head. She grabbed him a towel and facecloth from the basket beside the tub and set them on the small vanity for him.

“Thanks, Daph.” He gave her a weak imitation of a smile that broke her heart a little more as he stepped up to the sink. She was reluctant to leave him alone, but she slipped out of the room to find him something clean to wear while he washed. She was pulling an old, oversize sweatshirt out of her closet when she heard it. A low, keening cry that sounded like a wounded animal echoed through the small apartment.

She ran back to the bathroom to find him standing with tears running down his face, his horrified gaze fixed on his hands as the water flowed over them and swirled a dirty, rusty red in the sink. It took her a heartbeat or two to realize what it was before her arms were around him and he was clinging to her, moaning the words against her neck as though each one was ripping out his heart. “Oh god, Daph, he’s gone. Brian is _gone.._.” She couldn’t do anything but hold him as he went down in a heap on the bathroom floor. She pulled him close and rocked him as grief wracked his thin frame and he wept in her arms until he had nothing left but shallow hitching breaths that felt like hiccups against her chest. She managed to get him back to the sofa and wrapped in the quilt again. She sat beside him and coaxed him into laying down, cradling his head in her lap. It was a long time later that he finally looked up at her with infinitely weary eyes– eyes full of the question that could never really be answered. A few simple words that broke her heart with their futility. “Why? Why Brian?” He closed his eyes with a long, shaky breath, not really expecting an answer.

And she had none – nothing she could say that would ease his pain beyond a whispered, “I don’t know, baby.” She smoothed his hair and stroked his forehead, murmuring soothing sounds until he fell into an exhausted, uneasy sleep.

It was only then she allowed herself a few deep, calming breaths of her own and tried to grasp the surreal turn their lives had taken in just a few hours. It just didn’t seem possible. She had dealt with her share of prejudice over the years, and God knew she’d seen first-hand what could happen when fear and hatred turned violent. But this... this was beyond comprehension. _Jesus. A bomb??_ And Brian... she felt an overwhelming sadness as the fact that Brian was dead began to sink in. She’d never met anybody like him – rich, gorgeous, smart, totally irreverent, and maybe the only person who loved Justin more than she did. She was one of the few people who really understood that. One of the few who’d been allowed to see them just be Brian and Justin, eating popcorn and smoking weed, arguing over whether it would be Yellow Submarine or Rebel Without a Cause again for the billionth time and neither one really complaining when she’d settle it by putting on Dirty Dancing. She smiled at that - at least all three of them agreed that Patrick Swayze was hot. Daphne shared Brian’s distaste for marriage, but that didn’t stop her from being a hopeless romantic when it came to love – and she was a true believer in the saga of Brian and Justin. They’d endured the bashing, the fiddler, the cancer, and even though Justin had left him again, she never believed for a minute that their story was over. Brian Kinney was the love of Justin Taylor’s life – that didn’t stop being true just because they weren’t together. Their destinies were entwined and it was only a matter of time before they stopped fighting it. So when he’d called earlier and sheepishly told her about Sydney, her ‘I told you so’ launched them both into giddy giggles...

And now Brian was gone. Not just gone, but taken from him in the most unimaginably cruel way. The thought of what this would do to her best friend finally brought the tears. Justin had always been fearless, right from that first day on the playground through the crucible of being out and proud at a place like St. James Academy. His strength was innate, but being with Brian these past five years had helped make him... more. Confident where he’d been cocky, not just fearless, but brave. Not every lesson he’d learned at Brian’s hands was noble or even good, but he had shown him what he could be. Given him the courage of his convictions, the confidence to believe in his own strength and the knowledge that if he did, then the rest of the world could go get fucked. For better or worse, Brian had helped shape the man that Justin had become.

Like Brian and Michael, she and Justin had been friends for more than half their lives, and for her he was the cliché – the strongest person she’d ever known. She looked down at him, his forehead still creased with unhappiness even in sleep, and wondered if that person still existed.

*~*~

A soft knock on the door woke Daphne from a light sleep just after dawn. She stood up slowly, careful not to disturb Justin, mercifully still asleep after a long and restless night. The first time he woke up screaming Brian’s name she’d been afraid she really was going to have to call someone. It took her a full minute to get him calmed down to where he could hear her and even then he didn’t seem to know where he was. When he finally did, the grief seemed to hit him anew and he cried himself to sleep again. The second time was nearly as bad and afterwards Daphne went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and a pill. She was well aware of the perils of taking someone else’s prescriptions, but weighed against the sight of him sitting on the edge of her bed with his head in his hands, afraid to close his eyes, the choice was easy. At least she knew he wasn’t allergic to Xanax because he’d taken it for a while after the bashing. She’d had her own troubles with sleeping and anxiety after her freshman year and still had a few left over. He didn’t argue with her, just swallowed it and then curled up in her arms, still weeping quietly. When his body finally relaxed and his breathing changed to the deeper, more even pattern of real sleep, she eased herself off the bed and covered him up, then went back into the living room and had a good, long cry of her own.

It was nearly three a.m. when she noticed the phone number she’d scribbled down earlier and realized she hadn’t called Emmett back. She grabbed the phone and dialed without thinking about the time and somehow she wasn’t surprised when he picked it up on the first ring. She told him Justin was with her – they both knew that ‘he’s okay’ was far from the truth, but she could hear voices in the background making relieved noises when Emmett relayed her message to the rest of them. He told her that Jennifer had been discharged and was at home, waiting for word. She hung up and called her and they talked for a while. Daphne didn’t tell her about the nightmare – she had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last one and Jennifer had been through enough for one night. Jennifer thanked her for being such a good friend to him and they both cried a little, then Daphne hung up and went back to Justin and laid down beside him. She slept fitfully, waking every time he stirred or murmured in his sleep. It seemed like she’d just closed her eyes when the knocking woke her a few hours later.

*~*~*

 **Melanie**

Daphne padded to the door and looked through the peephole before she opened it. It took her a moment to realize who the woman was that stood there. She’d only actually met the women she would forever think of as ‘Brian’s Lesbians’ a few times over the years – and then it was Lindsay that she knew best, since she was more involved with Justin’s art. She was still rubbing her eyes sleepily when she opened it, not entirely sure she was fully awake.

“Melanie?” Daphne glanced at the clock before looking back at the woman who stood in her doorway with a carry-out tray from Starbucks in one hand and a paper bag full of... something in the other. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, I know it’s early, but can I come in?” Daphne stood aside and let her pass. She followed her into the living room and had to cover her mouth to stifle a huge yawn as she waited for Melanie to tell her why she was there. She looked longingly at the cups she carried.

“Is that coffee?” she asked hopefully. Melanie nodded and held the tray out to her. She took one and then Melanie handed her the bag, which she was surprised to find was warm and smelled heavenly. Daphne raised an eyebrow at her.

“I stopped at the bakery...” Melanie shrugged and laughed a little self-consciously, “Hey, I’m Jewish – it’s what we do.”

Daphne motioned her to the sofa and set the bag of sweet rolls down on the small coffee table while Melanie undid her coat and unwound the scarf from her neck before she sat. Never one to beat around the bush, Melanie came right to the point.

“Justin is here, right?” Without waiting for Daphne to answer, she continued, “I really need to speak with him.”

Daphne took a sip of the steaming hot coffee and looked over the rim at the older woman. She didn’t know Melanie very well but her... complex relationship with Brian was legendary. Of all their friends she was the last one that Daphne had expected to show up. One thing was certain – there was no way she was letting anybody near Justin today who might upset him more than he already was. “He’s sleeping, he had...” she hesitated, unwilling to share Justin’s pain without his knowledge. “He’s sleeping.”

Melanie sighed inwardly - her brazen nature made her a great lawyer but it didn’t always make her the easiest friend. Her inherent ability to read people generally served her well though, and while Daphne’s voice was friendly enough, her body language communicated its warning loud and clear. She leaned forward and looked the young woman directly in the eyes. “I love him too, Daphne, I’d never do anything to hurt Justin. I just need to talk to him.” She spoke quietly and from the heart, but still sensed Daphne’s reluctance. “It was his mom who told me where you live.”

Daphne believed her, but she still didn’t want to wake him – this day would be long enough as it was. She said as much, but then the decision was taken out of her hands.

“It’s okay Daph, I’m awake.” Both heads turned to find Justin leaning against the bedroom doorway. “Hey Mel.”

Melanie got up and went to him, hugging him tightly before leaning back and taking a good look at him. He had on Daphne’s oversize Pitt hoodie and had pulled on his dusty jeans. His face was clean now but the faint purplish smudges beneath his red-rimmed eyes remained. Looking into them she had a brief flash of déjà-vu – he wore the same damaged expression as the woman she’d left a half-hour ago, crying in Emmett’s arms. The fleeting image brought a lump to her throat and she swallowed hard. “I’m so sorry, Justin.”

He just nodded, the already too familiar words were like a knife in his heart; coming from Melanie they cut just a little deeper because he wasn’t entirely sure they were true. Five years of watching her and Brian spar over Lindsay, over Gus, shit, over pretty much every issue that ever came up between them didn’t exactly inspire him to believe her regret was genuine. He was too tired to disguise his cynicism and clearly Mel saw it.

“I am sorry, Justin.” Her voice was husky and she cleared throat impatiently and went on, “I know you think that’s bullshit, but I am.”

She met Justin’s eyes squarely and he immediately felt ashamed. Melanie and Brian’s tumultuous relationship notwithstanding, she had always been a friend to him and he didn’t doubt her sincerity in that. He reached out and squeezed her arm. “I know, Mel.” He pulled her into a quick embrace and murmured against her ear. “Me too.”

He followed her back to the couch and took the cup of coffee that Daphne handed him as they sat down. He pried the lid off and took a sip then held it back out to her with a grimace. Daphne rolled her eyes at him and took two packets of sugar out of the tray and emptied them into his cup. Justin just held the cup there, lifting his eyebrows at her. She sighed dramatically, but tore open two more, dumped them into the coffee and dropped a stir-stick in with it. He stirred it and took another tentative sip, and sat back with it this time, apparently satisfied. She rearranged herself so that she was sitting crossed legged beside him and pretended not to notice the slight tremor in his hand as he sipped at the hot drink. It wasn’t lost on Melanie that the girl never took her eyes off him for a second and she watched the silent exchange between the two friends with admiration; considering why she was here, she was infinitely glad that he had someone like Daphne in his life.

Daphne took one of the cinnamon rolls from the bag on the table and offered it to Justin. It looked delicious, dripping with warm, sugary sweet icing - they were one of his favorite things, but just the thought of eating made Justin’s stomach clench. He shook his head and took another mouthful of coffee, but even that seemed to stick in his throat all of a sudden. He blanched and the cup trembled in his hand as he reached to put it on the table. Daphne grabbed it before it could spill and set it down for him, but didn’t let go of his hand. Justin breathed a shaky sigh and leaned back against the cushions, scrubbing his free hand over his face. “Fuck.”

Melanie eyed the third cup of coffee that remained in the tray and reached for it. She busied herself with it, more to give Justin a chance to regroup than any desire for more caffeine. As she stirred in the cream and sugar she considered her young friend and how best to broach the reason she was here. Justin’s hold on his emotions was tenuous at best and whether she intended to or not, she knew what she had to tell him would only add to that. Still, the direct approach had always been her preferred method of dealing with things and she believed Justin felt the same. She took a calming breath and turned to him, only to find the troubled blue eyes fixed on her again.

“Does Lindsay know?” The unexpected question momentarily threw her and she only nodded. His voice faltered and he had to swallow the knot in his throat to ask the next, far more painful one. “What about Gus?”

Mel’s careful composure slipped a little and she had to look away to answer. “No, we haven’t told him yet. He was still sleeping when I left.” Carl had called them with the news just before midnight. Emmett, Ben and Michael had shown up not long after. She looked at Daphne. “Emmett was at our house when you called.”

 _“Your_ house?” Justin cocked his head at her, “I thought you and Corinne...”

Melanie hunched her shoulders. “Corinne is... history. Lindsay and I...” Her mouth curved with the hint of a smile as she recalled the vicious fight that had led to their rather violent reunion. “We decided to go to the benefit together.” Her smile faded and her eyes clouded over. “We were there but... the sitter was late. We.. I... I forgot my cellphone in the car. I left Lindz at the entrance with Dusty...” Jesus, she would never forget that feeling – the explosion came just as she was locking the car up again, so loud it nearly knocked her off her feet – powerful enough to set the car alarm off. It took a few seconds for the world to come back into focus and when it did she had only one clear thought – Lindsay! _‘You go on in, I’ll find you.’_ She ran with her last words to her wife ringing in her ears. “I was so fucking scared.” The few minutes it took to find Lindsay were the longest of her life, and when she did, she decided then and there she was never letting her go again. “I just thank God she decided to wait for me - she never made it inside. Dusty was right there at the bar when it happened... she never had a chance...”

Justin made a small sound in his throat that brought Melanie back to the room and she realized what she was saying. He pulled his legs up and wrapped his arms around his knees as though fighting to keep himself together.

“Oh shit, Justin...” A tear spilled over at last and ran down her cheek as she watched Justin squeeze his eyes closed and the enormity of what he was going through finally struck home: her nightmare had only lasted as long as it took her to run back from the car; he was still living his, and would be for a long, long time. He seemed almost to shrink in on himself, pulling his knees up closer still and dropping his head until it rested against his folded arms. Daphne rubbed his back and felt his shoulders rise and fall under her hand with each deep, shuddering breath he took as he struggled for control. She glared at Melanie and shook her head in silent rebuke. Melanie mouthed an apology to the younger woman and she, too, put a hand on Justin’s quaking shoulder, cursing herself for her thoughtlessness. She wanted to sink into the floorboards and briefly considered leaving, but she knew that wasn’t an option. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking... _shhiit!_ I didn’t mean to...” She was in danger of babbling when the sound of Justin’s voice stopped her.

“He wasn’t supposed to be there.” He spoke without raising his head and they had to strain to hear him. Daphne leaned in.

“What?”

His eyes glinted with unshed tears as he looked up at his friend and then at Melanie. “He wasn’t supposed to be there. Brian _wasn’t fucking supposed to be there._ ” His voice was thick with emotion - a hint of anger beneath the crushing sadness, but mostly a lingering disbelief that this could really have happened. “He was going to Australia. We were...” his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

“I know,” Melanie nodded.

“No, you don’t,” Justin snapped, shaking his head. “You don’t understand... we were supposed to go together. He asked me to go with him. He wanted us to...” His voice broke and he pinched the bridge of his nose and bit at his lips. He still couldn’t believe it himself – how could he explain it to anyone else. “Ahh fuck...”

“I do know, Justin.” Melanie repeated. She took hold of his hand and waited until he looked at her again. “That’s why I’m here.”

The young blond’s eyebrows knit together as the implications of that sank in. She couldn’t really blame him for the look of utter confusion on his face – it was pretty fucking bizarre that she, of all people, was the one he had come to after his diagnosis. She’d sat there literally speechless as Brian fucking Kinney sat across the desk from her and calmly told her he had cancer and needed to get ‘a few things taken care of.’ When he’d told her what those things were, all she could think of to say was why?

 _‘Why?’_

 _Brian pulled his lips into his teeth and eyed her stonily. ‘I have cancer. I’m going in for surgery – did I not just say that?’_

 _‘Why me, smartass.' That he was sick was incredible enough – him asking her to be his power of attorney was a whole other level of crazy._

 _‘You’re my lawyer aren’t you? As my dear old Dad always said, ‘better the devil you know, Sonnyboy.’ Besides, Michael couldn’t do it. Lindsay couldn’t do it.’ His lips curved into a cold smile. ‘I certainly don’t want my mother or my cunt of a sister anywhere near me.’_

 _She nodded understanding at that, but still... and then she asked the obvious. ‘What about Justin?’_

 _He’d gone very still, the smile frozen in place, but the hazel eyes flashed – their perpetual affect of casual indifference chased away by something she couldn’t quite name. Something terrible. ‘No, not Justin.’ He said the words almost to himself and she’d watched, fascinated as his carefully maintained facade faltered and for just a few seconds she felt as though she’d seen the real Brian Kinney – vulnerable and scared. Almost... human. Then he’d shaken it off and the veneer of apathy slipped back into place. He stuck his tongue in his cheek and shrugged. ‘The boy is going places. Hollywood beckons, you know.’ And then he’d arched that fucking eyebrow of his at her and leaned across the desk. ‘Besides,’ he purred, ‘you’re a heartless shit. You could pull the plug and you wouldn’t cry, and you’d know when it’s time to go.’ He’d smirked then, her self-conscious, somewhat chagrined laugh confirmation that she knew exactly where those words had come from._

 _‘Asshole,’ she’d hissed at him. Somehow the baleful gaze he’d leveled at her made her feel better. Brian the supercilious prick she could deal with; Brian the sick, worried cancer patient who needed a friend he could trust scared the shit out of her. There were times when she’d truly despised the man but she was woman enough to acknowledge that most of her reasons for hating him were rooted in jealousy and fear of losing Lindsay. It took a long time for her to realize that she was blaming the wrong party in that particular equation. Despite her treatment of him over those first couple years, Brian had been the one to help her and Lindsay reconcile – and he did it by giving her the most precious gift anyone ever could. They would never be friends but they did share a mutual, if grudging respect for each other and hers had only deepened in the years since. So maybe it wasn’t so crazy that he would ask something so important of her - the man was truly an enigma. Still, she wasn’t sure which one of them was more surprised when she agreed._

She’d prepared everything he needed: a will, a trust for Gus, all the necessary paperwork in case... Shit. He’d even gone as far as filing an advanced medical directive with the hospital, which was pretty fucking amazing for someone who’d freaked out at the mere idea of an insurance policy just a few years prior. Thank god, in the end none of it had been necessary because for all their differences, the thought of Brian reaching the point where she would have to make that kind of a decision was far more disturbing than she ever would have imagined. Truth be told, although she would never admit it to anyone, she wasn’t sure she could have done it. She wasn’t fucking sure at all. And then a few weeks ago, he’d shown up at her office again, and this time what he’d asked for surprised her even more.

Melanie gave Justin’s hand a squeeze.

“You?” he breathed, comprehension dawning in the wary blue eyes. Daphne looked back and forth between the two of them, clearly at a loss, and the older woman smiled sympathetically.

“I was... I _am_ Brian’s lawyer. I...” she hesitated, glancing at the young woman sitting by Justin’s side. He let go of her hand and took Daphne’s instead.

“It’s all right,” he smiled weakly at his best friend before turning back to Melanie, “she’s family.”

Mel shrugged slightly. “I know what Brian wanted, Justin,” she said quietly. “I know about the house.” She let him absorb that for a moment, then went on, “And I know about the papers he had drawn up, because I wrote them.” His eyes welled and she could see his fingers tighten around Daphne’s hand as his chin dropped to his chest. “Justin...” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “Honey, Brian loved you, I hope you know that.” He looked up at her and nodded - didn’t try to stop the tears that spilled over or wipe them away - just nodded. “The thing is, the hospital needs to know...” He flinched at the mention of the hospital and his shoulders sagged with the weight of his grief, but he held her gaze. She quickly explained that the hospital needed instructions and then added, “Brian made his wishes clear, Justin. Everything will be taken care of, but they still need someone with authority to... release him. They called me because I’m still the one listed on their records.”

Mel nibbled at her lip for a second, not eager to spell out what would probably have been obvious to him in other circumstances. She blew out an uneasy breath and continued. “I don’t have that authority now, Justin. You do.” His lips parted at that, but no words came out – he just stared at her. A myriad of emotions swirled in the tormented blue eyes – some raw and unmistakable, some too deep, too painful to decipher. She wasn’t sure exactly what he was seeing, but she was absolutely sure it wasn’t her. Wherever he was, he looked all of fifteen years old sitting there and for a brief moment Melanie felt the old resentment flare. _Fucking Brian - he’s just a kid, he can’t handle this._ “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I’ll...”

“No.” Justin spoke the word without emotion, still caught up in his memory.

“It’s okay, I can take care of..”

“No,” Justin interrupted her again. He combed his fingers back through his hair and shook his head as if to clear it. He seemed to gather himself and sat up properly, then he looked at Melanie again, his eyes determined and focused. “I’ll do it.”

Despite her misgivings, she smiled inwardly. The kid had an inner strength that put most of the so-called adults in his life to shame. The rueful smile reached her lips as she realized another truth – Brian knew that all along.

*~*~*


	5. Part Five

**Justin  
**  
Justin followed Melanie onto the elevator and stood staring blankly at the control panel. Melanie glanced sideways at him as she pressed the button, trying not to let her concern show. She’d brought his bags with her to Daphne’s – fortunately Ben had had the presence of mind to grab them before they’d followed the ambulance from Babylon. A shower and change of clothes left him feeling halfway human again and he’d seemed okay when they left the apartment. But the closer they got to the hospital the more he withdrew and he hadn’t said a word since they pulled into the parking lot. The elevator came to a stop and he blinked as the ‘B’ lit up and the doors whispered open, but he made no move to exit. Mel had to stand in the path of the doors to stop them closing again. “Come on, Justin,” she reached out and gave his arm a supportive squeeze. “This is really mostly just a formality. You’ll have a couple forms to sign once I give them the paperwork and then we can go home, okay?” Justin nodded and stepped past her, pausing once he was in the corridor.

He knew exactly where they were going – he could probably have found his way there blindfolded. During the weeks he’d spent here recovering from the bashing he wasn’t allowed to leave the building and so he’d filled up his days exploring every inch of the hospital. He knew what each floor held – medicine and physiotherapy on the ground floor, the surgical suites and intensive care on the second, maternity and pediatrics on the third. Among other things, the basement level of Allegheny General Hospital housed the hospital pharmacy, the cafeteria, a gift shop and their destination this morning, the administrative offices. Those were all to his left, their locations mapped out on the directory that faced the elevator doors.

It was what lay to his right that kept him rooted to the spot. The plain gray sliding doors offered no indication of what was beyond them; each bore only a rather innocuous ‘No Admittance - Hospital Personnel Only’ sign beneath a small, square window. He’d gone through them one afternoon when curiosity had gotten the better of him. That was the day the panic attacks had begun. Before that his fears had been confined to the night, to dreams that twisted into nightmares he couldn’t really remember yet still left him shaking and unnerved. His days had been filled with frustration and pain, but it wasn’t until he’d found himself standing on the other side of those doors that mindless panic joined the mix. He passed by several offices with doctor’s names and titles on the nameplates and then found another set of sliding doors, these ones set with larger windows. At first he thought it was an operating room – all sterile-looking steel and bright overhead lights. But the surgical suite was upstairs. And operating rooms didn’t have more than one table. Mercifully, the room was empty but the row of gleaming, stainless steel lockers along one wall left no doubt as to what it was.

It had hit him all at once – how close he’d come to being in that room himself, and why.  That someone hated him enough to want him dead; that it had been so easy for Hobbs to get to him; that he wasn’t safe at his own prom. He wasn’t safe anywhere. Certainly not here. He’d stood there trembling, overcome with a paralyzing fear – wanting to run but unable to make his legs work. He didn’t hear the orderly approach him and when the man put his hand on his shoulder he’d lost it. He didn’t remember exactly what happened – he never could. He only knew he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move and that he was going to die. The next thing he knew he was back in his room and his mom was there and she looked like she’d been crying again. Fuck.

Justin felt a tear slide down his cheek as memories of those dark days after he left the hospital filled his thoughts. The joy of finally seeing Brian again, then the terrible realization of how badly the bashing had affected him as well. Yet despite his own issues it was Brian who held him through the nightmares with a gentleness Justin doubted anyone else knew he possessed. It was Brian who was patient and understanding when he couldn’t let anyone touch him, and then tender and loving when he finally could. It was Brian who had given him back his art; refused to let him give up on himself, massaged his hand when it cramped up and his spirit when that failed him, too. And when he’d asked for more, demanded a covenant, Brian had given him that, too. Only one of them had honored it – he wondered bitterly how surprised Brian’s ‘friends’ would be to know which one of them it was.

Justin pressed his forehead to the window and swallowed the lump that rose in his throat as he faced a truth he’d never really acknowledged to the one person he should have. He’d survived the bat to the head thanks to the skill of the surgeons. But he’d _lived_ because of Brian and he’d thanked him by leaving him for pretty words and empty promises. And now it was Brian on the other side of those doors, only this time the nightmare was real. Fuck.

“Justin? The office is this way...” When he didn’t answer her, Melanie stepped closer and looked over his shoulder and through the glass. To her it was an empty hallway like any other but it didn’t take a psychic to feel the anxiety the young man at her side exuded. He was all but vibrating with it and she knew instinctively that touching him would be disastrous. She cleared her throat softly and spoke his name again. It took a third time before he finally turned to look at her and the despair in his eyes made her question yet again the wisdom of making him do this. And once more Justin proved her wrong. He shook his head and blinked away the tears, and then turned his back on the memories – he couldn’t change the past, but he could make sure he didn’t let him down again.

~*~*~

Justin and Melanie walked down the corridor towards the administration office. Although there were no patients on the basement level, it still had the hushed quality inherent to hospitals and so they heard the commotion before they even turned the corner. A young man in casual clothes stood beside a much older, well dressed woman with steel-gray hair at the administration office reception window. She was clinging to the man’s arm as though her life depended on it; nothing about her posture suggested strength or confidence and yet she was berating the young woman behind the counter with practiced arrogance. The man cast an apologetic glance at the clerk and then tried to soothe his companion with quiet words but she waved them off and leaned across the counter and through the open window.

“I want to speak to your supervisor, right now.” The clerk disappeared into the back and immediately the older woman looked up at her friend, dabbing at her eyes with a wadded up tissue. “This is outrageous. They can’t do this.”

Justin felt all the hairs on his neck stand up as the sound of her voice tickled something in the back of his brain. He’d only heard it once before but there was no mistaking its cold, somewhat imperious tone. Before he could think about it he tapped the woman on the shoulder. Both of them turned to face him and Justin took in the white band peeking through the collar of the man’s black shirt in the same moment he saw his face. A priest. Not just a priest, Reverend Tom. Their Reverend Tom. Justin then turned to the woman who stood beside him.

“Hello, Mrs. Kinney.”

It was obvious that she didn’t recognize him at first as she looked him up and down with an eerily familiar arched brow, and then even more obvious when she did. Her face narrowed with barely concealed disdain and she raised her chin haughtily.

“Justin, isn’t it?” He nodded, a little surprised that she remembered his name. She glanced back and forth between him and the priest, clearly trying to decide how she could explain the young blond without acknowledging her son’s abominable lifestyle. She ran a shaky hand across her eyes as if she hoped he might not be there when she opened them. But of course he was, and the priest was staring at him with open curiosity. “Reverend Butterfield this is...” she hesitated, her mouth twisting as though she had tasted something sour. She made a show of dabbing her eyes again and Justin couldn’t help notice that the tissue looked decidedly dry. He huffed out a short, scornful breath of his own and gave a slight shake of his head. He put out his hand and the priest took it automatically.

“I’m Justin Taylor, Brian’s partner.” He ignored the scowl on the old woman’s face and met Reverend Tom’s gaze evenly, no small feat considering their brief but eventful history. “I’m pretty sure we’ve met,” he said, and felt the man’s hand clench around his fingers for a heartbeat as recognition dawned in the priest’s eyes. They slid briefly to the woman at his side and then back to Justin. He hesitated for only a moment before he covered younger man’s hand with both of his own and shook it firmly.

“I’m so very sorry for your loss. Brian was a good man.”

Melanie watched the scene unfold and she couldn’t have said which of the two were more surprised by the priest’s heartfelt condolence. Justin, who had no reason to expect such respect from the man, or Joan, who seemed genuinely confused by it. Before she could question it further the door to the administration office opened and a dark-haired woman emerged. Clearly the clerk had informed her of the situation; she took in all four of them as she approached but it was Joan she spoke to first, greeting her with a sympathetic but professional smile.

“I’m Pamela Johansen, Director of Patient Services. How can I help you?”

Joan turned her back on Justin and Melanie as if they weren’t there and answered the woman sharply. “You can tell me where my son is. This... person,” she nodded at the young clerk who had resumed her place at the counter, “has been no help whatsoever.”

“First of all, Mrs. Kinney, let me offer my condolences. I know this is an extremely difficult time.” Her words elicited no response from the older woman, so she continued, “Please be assured that our only concern is to make certain that your son’s wishes are adhered to in accordance with his instructions.”

The implication of the Director’s words seemed to be lost on Joan and she went on as though she hadn’t spoken at all. “The funeral home called me and said you refused to let them pick up his...” her voice cracked with the first sign of real emotion she’d shown but she recovered quickly, her chin rising defiantly again. “This is outrageous. I want him released right now.”

The director smiled tolerantly and tried again. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kinney, but I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

Joan’s eyebrows shot up and she practically sputtered. “You most certainly will...”

“Maybe I can help clear things up,” Melanie interrupted her and it seemed to shock the older woman into silence. “I am Melanie Marcus – we spoke on the phone earlier.” She pulled a legal-sized file folder from the leather attaché slung over her shoulder and offered it to the administrator. “And this is Justin Taylor,” she added, motioning towards him. Pamela opened the folder and quickly looked over the top document, nodding. Before she could respond, Joan apparently found her voice again and grasped her by the elbow.

“Excuse me, but we were not finished speaking.” Pamela looked down at the hand on her arm and back up into the indignant woman’s eyes. Her job required her to deal with people in all sorts of emotional crises and she was a compassionate person, but she drew the line at being touched. She tucked the folder under her arm and removed the woman’s hand from her elbow.

“Mrs. Kinney, I understand you are upset,” she said patiently. She glanced at the four of them and gestured towards her office door, “Why don’t we step into my office and I will be happy to explain.” But Joan refused to be placated.

“There is nothing to be explained. He is my son and I demand that you do as I ask and let us...” her voice faltered and she looked up at Reverend Tom and then back at the administrator. Despite the dark hair Joan guessed her to be around her own age, and she had wedding rings on her hand – perhaps she was a mother, too. Perhaps she could understand the shame... “Please, there are things we need to do,” she implored, and then she cast a contemptuous look in Justin’s direction and clutched the priest’s arm again. “My son is damned. We need to pray for his soul.” Pamela scarcely had time to register her dismay before Justin spoke.

“What did you say?” Justin barely breathed the words but they drew the attention of all four of them. “What did you say?” he repeated the words carefully, his hands instinctively clenched at his side.

Joan didn’t retract her words, but she at least had the sense not to say them again. She moved closer to the priest and when he put a protective arm around her shoulder she raised her chin and huffed. “You heard what I said. And you are on the same road, young man. It’s not too late for you yet, though. You can still change. You can escape God’s punishment.”

Justin shook his head, refusing to accept what he was hearing. “He’s your son. How could you...” He threw a questioning look at Reverend Tom and found the man unwilling to meet his eyes. Joan had no such trouble.

“I tried to tell him, to help him understand. God gave him a second chance and he threw it in His face.” Her voice faltered then, full of unshed tears, not for her son’s life, but for her own disgrace. “He condemned himself to the fires and added eternity after eternity to his sentence with his sinful ways.”

“You can’t really believe that?” Melanie said incredulously. She knew Brian’s mother disapproved of him but she never imagined she could be this... monstrous. Justin looked as though he might actually strike the woman and she moved to his side just in case. Joan turned to Melanie as though she had just noticed her presence.

“I believe in God’s holy word. You have no right to question it, or me, Miss...” she narrowed her eyes and assessed the younger woman, “who are you, exactly?”

“Actually, I have every right – or rather, Justin does.” Melanie leveled her most menacing, don’t-fuck-with-me stare at her. “I am Brian’s attorney, and that,” she said, pointing at the file that Pamela held, “is all the documentation necessary to make sure that _you_ don’t go anywhere near him.” In a different situation she would have enjoyed the look of shocked indignation on the old woman’s face, but as it was she felt only a deep sadness that any mother could possibly value religious dogma over the life of her child. Still, the corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly as she drove the message home. “Unless of course, Justin allows it.”

“That is ridiculous,” Joan spat the words at her, waving her hand dismissively. “Of course I don’t need this... _boy’s_ permission to see my son.” She glared at Mel in a vain attempt to stare the younger woman down and for a moment Melanie caught a glimpse of Brian in the arrogant set of her jaw. She glared right back and was struck by the eerie familiarity of the exchange. How many times had she and Brian faced off just like this? But this time, unlike pretty much every single one of those times, the Kinney side of the equation blinked first. Joan turned to the administrator, fully expecting validation of her rights as Brian’s mother, but found the woman shaking her head.

“I’m afraid Ms. Marcus is correct.” A cursory glance at the paperwork confirmed what Melanie had already told her on the phone. Though they were only a few weeks old, all the documents were in order giving Justin the authority the lawyer had just asserted. Her job required her to be impassive but it was difficult not to feel a little relief that she would not have to accede to this woman. All too often she’d seen the cruel treatment of bereaved partners at the hands of a homophobic parent simply because they hadn’t had the foresight to put their wishes in writing. Try as she might, Pamela couldn’t quite keep the contempt out of her voice as she tried once again to explain the situation to her. “Mr. Taylor has the legal authority here. He...”

“Don’t tell me about legal authority,” Joan cut her off. “What about _moral_ authority? God’s authority?” She clung to Reverend Tom again, her voice growing more shrill by the moment. “Ms. Johansen, surely you must see what is at stake here? We need to pray for his soul – for God’s mercy.”

“Joan, please...” Reverend Tom tried to calm her but she wouldn’t be silenced. She cast a hard look at Justin.

“The Bible is quite clear. Men lying with men is an abomination. My son died without repenting his sins. He is going to Hell.”

Melanie gasped, Ms. Johansen said something about legal rights and obligations, even the good Reverend seemed taken aback, but none of it registered for Justin. All he could hear were the hateful words being spewed by the person who should have loved Brian more than anyone else, and it was all he could do to control the fury he felt clawing at his chest.

“You have no idea,” he said through his teeth. Joan raised a questioning eyebrow at him but wisely said nothing. “You have no idea how Brian... died,” he nearly choked on the word but anger fueled his resolve and he took a step toward the older woman, close enough to smell the stale alcohol on her beneath a cloud of expensive perfume. “You have the gall to stand there and talk about _morality?_ Brian was a good man, an honorable man. He was...he was the best man I’ve ever known. He worked hard and he supported his friends,” he paused and glanced at Melanie, his voice softening a little, “and he loved his family... He loved _me,_ and he died...”

Justin's voice failed him as Brian’s last moments flashed in his mind. He wasn’t ready to share what Brian had gone through. Not yet, and maybe not ever. Certainly never with these people. He doubted even knowing that her son died wondering if his own son would remember him would be enough to get through to her. He recalled all the times he’d harangued Brian for not telling her about Gus and he felt an odd mixture of guilt and respect. As always, Brian had known what he was doing keeping his son far, far away from her. He thought about the photo of Brian and Gus he carried in his wallet and it was all he could do not to take it out and shove it down the old woman’s throat – make her see just what her God had taken away from them. As much as he wanted to do it, he knew he could never betray Brian that way. His voice was thick with emotion but he refused to let this woman see him cry. He drew in a ragged breath and took another step forward until there was barely a foot between them.

“He died...no...” Justin shook his head, “no, he was _killed_ because someone… someone like you believed someone like him, someone like me didn’t deserve to live. He died _knowing_ that. How can you possibly believe that was God’s will?” He turned baleful eyes on the priest. “How can _you_ _?_ ” The man had the grace to look ashamed, but still he remained silent and dropped his eyes. Justin shook his head at the both of them, his voice filled with loathing, “You want to pray for something? You should both pray that God forgives _you._ ”

For a brief moment something flickered across the old woman’s face. Remorse? Regret? Her pinched mouth trembled and a sheen of tears wet her eyes and Justin had a wild hope that maybe he’d actually gotten through to her. And then it was gone. She sniffed and squared her shoulders as if shaking off the momentary weakness and then cleared her throat. Her voice was somewhat more subdued, but the invective was the same.

“Yes, well, God has already passed judgment, hasn’t he. All we can do is pray that He has mercy on his soul.” She raised her chin defiantly and Justin knew a moment of pure hatred so powerful it made him recoil as if she’d slapped him. It took several deep breaths before he trusted himself to speak.

“You hateful, ignorant woman,” he seethed, “you don’t deserve to call yourself his mother.” He was shaking and had to shove his hands deep into his pockets to keep himself from doing something he would regret. He felt Mel’s arm go around him and pull him gently away from the woman, but he couldn’t stop the words from pouring out. “You have no _idea_ who your son was, how much he meant to me... to all of us...” He felt the tears begin to slide down his face and he let them fall. “You’re despicable and the worst part is you don’t even know how pathetic you really are.” He pulled his hand from his pocket to wipe his eyes and Joan actually flinched as though she expected a blow. Reverend Tom placed himself between them and took Justin’s arm.

“Justin, we are all trying to cope with this tragedy in our own way.”

“Take your hand off me,” Justin bit the words off one by one, and though the priest was several inches taller and quite a bit more solid than the younger man, he dropped his hand and stepped back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“Didn’t mean to what, Reverend Butterfield. Didn’t mean to let her talk about him like he was some worthless piece of shit? Didn’t mean to stand here in silence while she reduces her son’s life to nothing more than his sexual orientation? Didn’t mean to be a complete and total fucking _hypocrite?”_ He saw the priest’s face narrow with fear and somehow, instead of making him angrier, it just made him sad. He blew out a short, disgusted breath and shook his head, leaning closer. Fully aware that Joan could still hear every word, he hissed directly into the priest’s ear. “You’re worse than she is.” The good reverend could explain that to her any way he saw fit.

He turned his back on them and scrubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the evidence of their effect on him. He took a moment to recoup, and then he spoke to Ms. Johansen for the first time. “You have something for me to sign?” She nodded wordlessly and went to the counter where the young clerk stood with a folder in her hand. She drew out a set of documents, some insurance forms and the release papers and indicated where he should sign. Melanie had explained what they all were on their way over, and so he scrawled his name in the appropriate places and pushed them back across the counter to her. Later, he would think about the import of what, exactly, he had just done but for the moment the simple act seemed to calm him, to deepen his resolve to make absolutely sure that Brian’s faith in him was justified. He turned and faced Joan again, this time with an icy dignity that would have made Brian proud.

“Brian didn’t want a funeral – no visitations, no service. He’s going to be buried privately at Union Dale the day after tomorrow, so if you or Claire want to pay your respects, you can do it there.” Joan started to protest and Justin cut her off before she could get a word out. “But know this: if either of you so much as open your mouths to denigrate him in any way I will personally throw you out. So if you don’t think you can control yourself then I suggest you just stay away.” Joan retreated to the priest’s side again, clearly winding up to have another go at the administrator, but Justin stopped her cold, turning to the woman himself.

“I want to thank you for your help, Ms. Johansen,” he said sincerely. She had been more than kind and he sensed that she was on his side, but looking around he realized that they had drawn the attention of most of the people in the administration office, and not all of them held the same expression of sympathy that the Director did. At least not for him. So he hoped that she understood his warning was for their benefit, not hers. “Just so we’re clear, we have made arrangements for...” he bit down hard on his lip for a second before he could go on, “for Mr. Kinney’s body to be picked up later this morning. If either of these people are allowed anywhere near him before then, I will own this hospital by the time I’m finished.”

Pamela nodded her understanding, quietly impressed at his composure. She wasn’t sure she could have handled what he’d just gone through with such grace at his age, or even now for that matter. The Director smiled softly and extended her hand to him. “Of course, Mr. Taylor. And once again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Justin turned and walked away without looking back and Melanie followed him in stunned silence, still trying to absorb what she had just witnessed. Until the moment Joan had provoked him into speaking about it, she hadn’t really considered that fact that Justin had actually had to watch the love of his life die. Watching his face as that memory engulfed him was like looking at an open wound – raw and bleeding with no means of stopping the pain. But he had taken that pain and channeled it into one of the most powerful displays of courage and loyalty she had ever seen. She found herself slightly in awe of the depth of the love that inspired it and to her dismay, she realized that just maybe the man she’d spent so many years reviling was actually worthy of it.

Only someone who knew Justin well would have known just how little it would have taken to shatter the thin veneer of bravado that had carried him through these last few minutes. He managed to get all the way to the parking lot before it abandoned him. By the time they reached the car he was shaking too hard to open the door. He leaned heavily against it instead and wrapped his arms around his own body in an attempt to keep himself together.

“Fuck. What did I just do?” he breathed as the tears spilled over. Mel threw her bag into the car and put her hands on his shoulders, leaning down until he was forced to look her in the face.

“You did one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, Justin. I’m proud of you.”

“How could she, Mel? His own fucking mother. God, she makes me sick.” He ran his hands back through his hair and clasped them behind his neck. “I wanted to... Jesus... I could have killed her for the things she said.” He blew out a shaky breath. “What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you human, Justin. Nobody should have to listen to the things you did about someone they love.”

Justin hunched his shoulders and nodded, “I know. But it scares me to be that angry, Mel.”

Mel cupped his cheek and made him look at her again. “Let me tell you something, kiddo – I wanted to kill the sorry excuse for a woman and I didn’t even like the asshole,” she tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. It took a moment but then a tentative smile curved his lips and he actually laughed softly, low in his throat. She pinched the cheek under her palm and then tapped it gently. “Don’t let the fuckers get you down, Justin.”

Justin wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling loudly. “You’ve been hanging around Deb too long.”

She shrugged and returned the smile. “Yeah, well... sometimes Deb can be pretty fucking wise.” She opened the car door for him, then went around and got in behind the wheel.

Justin let out a bone-weary sigh as they pulled out of the parking lot. As bad as the encounter with Brian’s mother was, at least it was over. He felt as though if he could deal with that and come out the other side relatively sane, he could deal with anything.

Later, he would wonder how he could possibly have been so naïve.

~*~*~ ****

**Author's note:** If you've never seen Finding Nemo, some of this next part of this won't make much sense. I apologize in advance (but do yourself a favor and watch it some time. It's a wonderful movie. [Dory speaks whale.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJGeeryk0Eo) *g* Okay, on with the story...

 **Justin  
**  
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Daphne eyed Justin doubtfully as they stood in front of the ridiculously bright red door that could only belong to one person. He looked pale and drawn even though she’d convinced him to lay down for a while after Mel brought him back to her apartment. He’d already given up on the idea of ever sleeping again when Ben called to tell him the family was gathering at Deb’s. The thought of the controlled chaos of the Novotny house was vaguely disturbing, but Daphne’s place was quiet, and right now the quiet was not his friend.

“Nobody’s ever really ready for Deb,” Justin shrugged with a resigned half-smile and reached for the handle.

He was struck by a keen sense of déjà vu as they stepped into the living room. For the most part, the memories of his time in this house were good ones – warmth; laughter; acceptance. Home. There was one day though, not so very long ago, when it had felt a lot like this. When the lights were dim and the air was heavy with the sadness of a life ended too soon. But that day, although Brian had been the only one callous enough to say it out loud, there’d been a sense of inevitability; though Vic’s passing was equally sudden, it wasn’t inconceivable. Today was inexplicable, incomprehensible. Impossible.

The low hum of quiet conversation blended with the sounds coming from the television. Justin recognized the scene on the small screen – he and Gus had watched Finding Nemo at least a dozen times while Brian pretended to work on his laptop and Justin pretended he didn’t know that Brian knew all the words to ‘Beyond the Sea’. Gus was curled into Debbie’s side on the sofa, giggling madly at Dory’s attempts to have a conversation with a whale. Mel sat in one of the recliners feeding J.R. and speaking softly to Lindsay who was perched on the arm. Ben was in the other chair and Michael sat cross legged on the floor in front of him while the big man massaged his shoulders. Ted was leaning against the counter watching Emmett flutter around the kitchen, unpacking bags of food sent over from the diner. One by one they fell silent as they noticed Justin and Daphne’s arrival. Gus popped his head up and squealed with delight.

“Justin!” The boy bounced off the sofa and launched himself into the blond’s outstretched arms.

“Hey, Gus.” Justin lifted him up and hugged him close, pressing a kiss on top of his head. He held him like that for a long moment until Gus squirmed slightly and Justin set him down and ruffled the soft, brown hair.

“I missed you, Jus.”

Justin swallowed the lump that leapt into his throat as Brian’s son looked up at him. He felt the reproach in the guileless eyes; the boy was right – it had been too long. He hadn’t seen him since before he’d left... _damn_. “I missed you too, Gus,” he answered truthfully. And then Gus looked around his legs at Daphne and then back up at Justin before his little eyebrows knit together.

“Where’s my Daddy?” Daphne’s soft gasp behind them echoed his own as Justin stared down at the boy, open-mouthed. Before he could process the question, Gus piped up again. “Did you bring him with you?” He looked up at Justin expectantly.

“No, Gus, I...” he swallowed hard, completely at a loss. Ben said they’d told him already... He locked eyes with Lindsay, pleading silently for some kind of help but found her looking as dumbfounded as he felt. Either she hadn’t done a very good job of explaining or Gus simply hadn’t accepted it. Neither option changed the fact that Gus was tugging on his jacket and waiting for an answer. All eyes focused on the two of them and Gus went on as though Justin hadn’t spoken at all.

“Mama said that Daddy got hurt and you an’ Mommy went to the hospital to take care of him.” He was sad when Mommy came home by herself, but now Jus was here and Jus was always with Daddy. “Didn’t you bring my Daddy with you?” Gus asked again, and this time the question spurred Lindsay to her feet. She came and kneeled down beside her son and took him by the arms.

“Sweetheart, I told you, Daddy can’t come see you anymore...” Lindsay said gently.

Gus shook his head adamantly. “But you said Mommy and Jus were going to take care of him,” he insisted. Lindsay caressed the thin arms and tried again.

“No, sweetie, I said they had to go and take care of some things. I’m sorry, baby...” her voice was rough and she was on the verge of tears, but Gus wasn’t having it. He pulled away from her and flung his arms around Justin’s legs with a defiant ‘No!’

 _“Where’s my Daddy?”_ Gus demanded, his bottom lip quivering now as tears welled in the soft brown eyes that had gone from curious to frightened with alarming speed.

Lindsay reached for him, but Justin scooped the small boy up into his arms and mouthed ‘let me’ to the distraught mother. He carried him around to the sofa and sat down beside Debbie, settling Gus onto his lap. He felt Deb’s arm go around him and warm lips pressed a kiss into his hair. He turned to the woman who was essentially a surrogate mother to him and felt a quick stab of fear in his belly as he saw the deep purple bruise that blossomed from just above her left temple and disappeared under the bright red wig.

He hoped the shock he felt didn’t show on his face. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he’d sat across from her at the diner, holding his future in his hands, and it looked like she had aged twenty years. A whispered ‘Jesus Christ, Deb,’ was all he could manage. Her arm tightened around his shoulder and she offered a weak smile.

“I know, Sunshine,” she said quietly, ruffling the blond head much as he’d done to Gus moments before. She wrapped her arms around the both of them and pulled them close. “I’m okay, baby.” Her voice was subdued, devoid of the brassiness that was practically her trademark. She sounded almost… defeated. That alone scared him nearly as much as anything else that had happened. “It’s all gonna be okay.” She held them that way for a moment and then let go, and Justin turned the crying child on his lap around to face him.

Gus had his bottom lip pulled into his teeth and was frowning as he looked up at Justin from under his long lashes. The look was so ‘Brian’ that Justin was lost in it for a moment before Gus’s small voice brought him back to the room with a painful jolt. “Did I do something bad, Jus? Is Daddy mad at me?” He sniffled softly, “is that why he didn’t come with you?” The genuine sorrow in the boy’s questions pierced Justin’s heart but it was another voice that threatened to undo him. _‘Look out for him for me_.’

“Oh, no.” Justin took the small face in his hands. “No, you should never, ever think that.” He kissed his forehead and hugged him again before pulling back so Gus could see his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Gus. Your Daddy loved you more than anything else in the world.” Justin saw the doubt in Gus’ eyes and he took an unsteady breath as he searched for the words to help the boy understand what he barely understood himself.

“Gus, do you know what an accident is?”

The boy eyed him warily. “Uh huh. My friend Adam fell off the slide in the park and he hadda have a operation on his arm,” he said thoughtfully. “It was gross,” he added with a grimace, and then wiped his runny nose on his shirtsleeve.

“That’s right,” Justin nodded. “Your dad had an accident too, Gus. He had a very bad accident, and that’s why he can’t come see you any more, not because of anything you did.”

“But Adam had a operation and then he came home,” Gus reasoned. “Can’t Daddy have a operation, too?” Justin looked up at Lindsay for some direction before he answered; she had moved back to the armchair beside Mel and both women nodded their encouragement. He looked down into the trusting eyes of Brian’s child and felt his heart break a little more. Despite his best efforts, tears spilled down his cheeks as he answered the question.

“No, kiddo,” he said huskily, “he was hurt too badly for the doctors to fix him. They tried really hard, but he died, Gus.”

The room was very still as they all waited for Gus to process what Justin had just told him. The television made the only sounds until Michael coughed softly and got up, hurrying past them toward the back door. Ben followed quickly behind him with an apologetic glance in Justin’s direction. Gus looked back and forth between the tv and Justin and he worried his bottom lip again.

“He...died?” the boy repeated the words cautiously. Justin nodded. “Like Nemo’s mommy?” Justin swiped the back of his hand across his eyes and nodded again.

“Yeah, like Nemo’s mommy.” He watched the small face crumple and Gus fell against his chest with a sob.

“But I want him to be here, Jus. I don’t want Daddy to be died.”

Justin gathered him in and held him as he wept, lightly stroking the still baby-soft hair. “I know, Gus, I don’t either... I don’t either.” He rocked him gently and after a few minutes his sobbing calmed and the small body relaxed in his arms. Gus looked up at Justin through heavy-lidded eyes and reached up and touched his wet cheek curiously.

“Are you sad, Jus?”

“Uh huh,” Justin answered him honestly.

“Me too.”

“I know, kiddo.”

The boy seemed to consider this for a minute and then nodded gravely. “Mama, too,” he said matter-of-factly. “An’ Uncle Mikey. He was crying.”

“It’s okay to be sad, Gus,” Justin reassured the boy.

“It is?”

“Uh huh,” Justin nodded, “We’re all a little sad right now,” he said, “but you know what?”

“What?” Gus perked up a little and sat up in Justin’s lap.

“It’s okay to be happy, too.” Justin wiped away the traces of tears from the young boy’s face with his thumbs. “Your daddy loved you very much, Gus, and he always wanted you to be happy.”

“He did?” The small voice was uncertain but a ghost of a smile played around his mouth.

“Uh huh. And you know what else?” Gus narrowed his eyes a little and Justin smiled in spite of himself – he would have sworn on a stack of bibles that he saw one eyebrow lift.

“What?”

Justin poked his fingers into Gus’s ribs where he knew the boy was most ticklish. “Iiiiii doooooo tooooooooo,” Justin deepened his voice, letting it rise and fall in what he hoped was his very best imitation of Dory speaking whale. Gus squealed, trying to escape the tickle and Justin kept on making his face stretch into crazy shapes as Gus giggled and gasped. “Iiii loooooooooove youuuuuuuuuuuu Guuuuuuuuuusss,” he groaned, and let the boy go, laughing himself now. He did have to squeeze his eyes shut for just a moment though when Gus grasped his face with both small hands and answered in his own version of whale-speak.

“Iiiii loooooove youuuu tooooooo Juuussssstiiiiinnn.” Gus wrapped his arms around the blond’s neck and squeezed hard and then wriggled away when Justin threatened to tickle again. He skittered down off the sofa and ran to where Lindsay sat - safely out of tickle range and panting, but grinning again. “Want to see what I drawed today, Jus?”

“See what you drew,” Lindsay corrected him, but smiled gratefully over the boy’s head at Justin. Gus rolled his eyes and Justin blinked hard again and nodded.

“You bet, kiddo.”

While Gus searched through his backpack for his drawings, Justin leaned back into the cushions and scrubbed his hands over his face. He allowed himself a couple deep breaths before he let them fall into his lap again with a shaky sigh. His eyes slid sideways and found Debbie staring hard at him, her lips pinched together in a thin line and her head tilted as though studying him. She took his chin in her fingers and turned his face towards her, shaking her head slightly. Her eyes were shiny and when she tried to smile, her mouth quivered tellingly.

“How’d you get to be so fuckin’ smart, huh?”

Justin gave a small shrug. “Guess I had some pretty good teachers...” For a minute he wasn’t sure if she was going to hit him or burst into tears. Somehow he wasn’t surprised when she did both. She squeezed his chin and smacked him affectionately on the cheek before pulling him to her. She held him tight enough to force the air out of his lungs, but for once he was grateful for the comfort of one of her bone-crushing hugs.

“Little shit,” she breathed into his hair. Her voice was gruff again, more familiar, but the wet warmth soaking into Justin’s collar belied her brave front. “You doing okay, Sunshine?” she murmured after a long moment.

He didn’t have the energy or the inclination to lie. “Fuck no,” he huffed into the older woman’s neck.

Debbie just hugged him that much tighter and held on. “Yeah. Me neither.”

*~*~*

Michael stood in the middle of the tiny backyard and tried to breathe. The door had barely closed behind him when he heard the metallic creak of the hinges again, and then felt strong arms encircle him. Ben didn’t say anything, just pulled him close and let his chin rest on Michael’s shoulder, almost surprised to feel the wetness as he pressed his cheek against the smaller man’s. After holding him most of the night, he wondered how it was possible Michael still had any tears left in him. “It’ll be all right, baby,” he said, for what felt like the hundredth time. Michael’s chin dropped to his chest and he shook his head, silently acknowledging what they were both thinking: He could say it a hundred times more. A thousand. A million. He still couldn’t make it be true.

They stood like that for a long moment; the afternoon sun was warm on their faces but the air was cold enough to see their breath. Ben felt Michael trembling through the thin sweater he wore and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. “You’re cold. Let’s go inside.”

“You go ahead, I’m fine,” Michael said without turning around.

“Michael, there’s no sense...”

“Jesus, Ben, I said I’m _fine,_ ” Michael snapped, and then bit down hard on his lips when he felt Ben’s body tense behind him. “Shit.” Michael turned around, still in the circle of Ben’s arms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” Michael hunched his shoulders and let them fall again as he lay his head against the bigger man’s chest. “I just need a few minutes... please...” he said, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt. Just five minutes. Five quiet minutes. Five minutes without anybody asking if he was okay. Without hearing anybody crying. Without hearing... anything.

 _“Just because we’ve been friends our whole lives doesn’t mean we have to stay friends.”_

 _“You’re my best friend, and I need you.”_

 _“They tried really hard, but he died, Gus.”_

 _“He died, Gus.”_

 _“He died.”_

“I love you, Michael.” Ben stroked his back and murmured into his hair, and Michael sighed. He loved Ben completely; the words should have been soothing, a balm on his wounded soul. Instead, they left him aching for more, for the only words that could make a difference now. Words that would remain forever unspoken. _Always have, always will._ Michael reached up and caressed his husband’s cheek and prayed he couldn’t see the truth.

“Please, Ben... just go inside.”

~*~*~

“Deb... _Deb!_ I can’t breathe,” Justin groaned out the words with the little air he had left in his lungs. Debbie reluctantly let him go with an unconvincing apology.

“Sorry, Sunshine.”

Justin gave her a watery smile and squeezed her hand, only letting go when Gus bounded back over and wedged himself between them. He carefully spread his drawing out over his lap and proudly pointed out the big gold star in the corner. “See, Jus? I got a star and everything!” Justin was appropriately impressed and within a minute or two, Gus was curled into Deb’s side again, totally engrossed in the joyous underwater reunion on the tv screen.

“Come and get it, everybody,” Emmett chirped from the kitchen.

“Em honey, let me help with that,” Debbie called over to Emmett as he set a large plate of lemon squares down on the table, already overflowing with platters of food. Betty had dropped off enough to feed a small army, along with a standing offer from Leo for anything else they needed. She made to get up but Emmett was in front of her in flash, hands on hips and a determined set to his jaw.

“You’ll do no such thing,” he scolded. “You sit right there and I’ll bring you a plate.”

“But...”

“But nothing,” he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her gently back against the cushions. “The doctor only agreed to let you come home because I promised I would look after you.” Debbie started to protest again and Emmett leaned down until he was face to face with the older woman. “You wouldn’t want to make a liar of me, would you?” he said sweetly. Justin was mildly surprised at Debbie’s acquiescence – until Emmett turned his attention to him. His smile could’ve melted butter, but there was pure steel magnolia behind it. “Come on, sweetie. Let’s get you something to eat.” Justin didn’t even consider refusing. He got up and followed Em to the kitchen without a word. Daphne was already there leaning against the counter and sipping on a soda. Ted sat at the table staring into the cup of coffee he was stirring as though the answers to life’s great mysteries were in the bottom of the cup.

“Hey, Ted.”

“Justin.”

Justin noticed Ted wince as he rose from his chair. His large doe-eyes were bleary and his complexion decidedly gray and Justin embraced the older man gingerly - he knew Ted had suffered some smoke inhalation but Emmett never mentioned any injuries.

“How are you?”

Ted coughed lightly. “The docs said there might be some residual tissue damage from the smoke.” He shrugged but his voice sounded painfully hoarse and his mouth twisted into a wry half-smile. “It only hurts when I breathe,” he said dryly. “They say I’ll live.”

Justin saw Daphne’s eyes go wide and Emmett gasped audibly but neither of them said a word.

“Shit, Justin, I... I...” Ted sat back down heavily, stricken by his own thoughtlessness. “I didn’t mean to...” he stammered, then looked back up at Justin miserably. “I still can’t believe it... I’m so sorry, Justin.”

Justin regarded Ted thoughtfully. If you were picking out the people least likely to be friends with Brian Kinney, Ted Schmidt would be right at the top of most lists. On the surface, he was the antithesis of Brian – self-deprecating, timid, insecure. Pretty much everything Brian despised in a person. But he was also trustworthy and smart, and against all logic, Brian had taken a chance on him. Ted more than justified Brian’s faith in him - he became not just an invaluable employee, but a loyal and trusted friend. Justin didn’t doubt for a minute that the grief in the older man’s eyes was genuine and profound. He put an unsteady hand on Ted’s shoulder and squeezed. “Me too.” There really wasn’t anything else to say.

Justin heard the soft whine of the hinges as the back door opened and Ben came back into the house. The door banged shut behind him with more force than the ancient spring on the closer could justify, the sound magnified by the unnatural quiet of the room. Emmett nearly dropped the plate he was fixing for Debbie, and Justin felt Ted flinch under his hand.

“Jesus fucking Mary and Joseph!” Emmett squeaked, clutching his chest in true high drama-queen fashion.

“Sorry...” Ben muttered and disappeared back into the mud-room. Justin followed and found him leaning up against the washing machine with arms folded across his chest and his head low. He stood that way for a long time before he scrubbed his large hands over his face and let out a long sigh between his fingers. He spoke without looking up. “I’m scared, Justin.”

Justin pulled back the curtain on the door and looked out at the solitary figure huddled in the yard, trying to hold himself together. “Me too.”

*~*~*

Justin gathered his jacket more closely around himself as he opened the door. All the warmth was gone from the afternoon sun, leaving only a pale, cool light behind and he shivered slightly. He looked at Michael, hunched over and holding his head in his hands. Even from here Justin could tell he was crying – his whole body shook with it and Justin briefly considered walking away. But he’d been doing that for too long now. It was time to keep his promise. He closed the door of the SUV and jogged across the narrow road to where Michael sat, cross legged in front of Brian’s headstone. It was quiet in the way that only cemeteries can be and even Justin’s footsteps on the soft grass seemed loud to his ears. He called out his name as he approached him, but Michael was oblivious. It wasn’t until he was right behind him that Justin realized why. Michael reached for the nearly empty bottle of Jim Beam at his side and took a long swallow off it, then picked up the cell phone from the grass in front of him and fumbled with the buttons until a voice emanated from the speaker.  
 _  
“Fuck you, Michael. The point of having a cell phone is to answer the fucking thing. I am on my way to my office – you have five minutes before I’m out of here.”_

“Michael?” Justin touched him on the shoulder, but Michael shrugged it off and pushed the buttons again, sniffling loudly. Justin let it play through one last time and then reached down and took the phone out of Michael’s hand. “That’s enough, Michael,” he said quietly.

“Fuck off.. that’s mine!” Michael made a feeble attempt to lunge after it, but only managed to topple over onto the grass and he laid where he fell, still weeping softly. “Fuck you, Justin. Itsmiine...” he slurred.

Justin sat down beside him, cursing as he felt the dampness seeping through the fine Armani wool. He fidgeted with the cellphone, turning it over and over in his hands while he considered Brian’s oldest friend, sprawled out on the ground beside his grave and tried to figure out how the fuck they got here, today of all days. “You should be there tonight,” he said finally.

Michael folded his arm up and let it rest across his forehead, shielding his eyes from the light. “I can’t...” he whispered. “Brian wouldn’t want me there.”

“You can, Michael. You will.” Justin picked up the bottle of Beam and screwed the cap back on it. “And Brian would kick your ass if he could see you here like this.”

“I can’t. I’m not.. Why would _you_ want me there?” Michael sat up and grabbed Justin by the arms. “Why Justin? Why...” he dropped his chin to his chest and sobbed. “Why don’t you hate me? Don’t you get it? You should fucking hate me.” But Justin just shook his head as Michael frantically searched the wide blue eyes for affirmation. He snatched the phone from Justin’s hands and pushed at the buttons until Brian’s admonition filled the air again. “Listen to him. _Don’t you fucking get it?_ It’s my fault Brian was there. If I had just... if I... shit...” Michael pushed the balls of his hands into his eyes and groaned miserably. “It’s my fault Brian is dead, Justin. My fault.”

“No, it isn’t,” Justin said quietly as he turned back to the headstone again and ran his hand over the name and dates carved into the lustrous black marble. His fingers mapped each letter of the words beneath them. _Nunc scio quid sit amor._

 __It seemed so long ago that he’d chosen them; the monument had been in place for nearly two years now and this was the first time he had seen the words, etched as deeply and indelibly into the stone as they were in his heart. Two years since his life had changed forever, standing right here in this very spot.

He could still hear the voices, the crying, the whispers. The screams. _‘Justin, no!’ ‘Stop!’ ‘Get him out of here, now!’_ His right hand clenched involuntarily and he looked down at it as though it weren’t his own, as if he didn’t recognize the faint, white scars that zig-zagged across his knuckles or remember the sickening crunch of bone meeting bone. Most of that day was a blur to him, but there were some things that he would never forget. No matter how hard he tried. He rubbed absently at the cramp in his hand and shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault that Brian died, Michael. It was mine.”

*~*~*


	6. Part Six

Michael’s dark eyebrows knit together, his expression so befuddled that Justin might have laughed if wasn’t just so fucking tragic. “No...” Michael shook his head, “No... you weren’t even there...” His voice trailed off as Justin reached past him and picked up the bottle of bourbon from the grass beside him.

Justin’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “No. I wasn’t there,” he repeated Michael’s words as he unscrewed the cap and swallowed the last mouthful of the amber liquid, shuddering as the burn made its way down his throat and spread through him like fire. “I hate that shit,” he grimaced, and passed it back to Michael.

Michael eyed the empty bottle and let out a sad little laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

Justin reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a folded up tissue. To Michael’s surprise, he didn’t wipe his eyes or blow his nose, instead he carefully unfolded it and produced a fat, rather battered looking joint. Justin lit it and took a long drag, holding the pungent smoke deep in his lungs before he offered him a hit. Michael shook his head again.

“I quit that shit.”

Justin snorted, blowing out a trail of smoke. “Yeah, me too.”

He smirked at Michael and held the joint out until the older man took it with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. They passed it back and forth, smoking in silence until it was too small to hold onto and then Justin pressed the roach into the soft, damp earth. Justin leaned back and let the slow buzz seep into his brain. He really didn’t indulge in drugs much anymore – he’d done enough in those first few weeks after the funeral to last a lifetime. Before he discovered there wasn’t enough weed or booze or pills in the world to numb the pain. Temporary oblivion was all he could hope for because no matter how high he got, he couldn’t escape his memories. Eventually he had to come down and when he did, Brian was still dead. And he still had to live with the reasons why. His cheeks burned with shame as he thought about just how close he’d come to finding permanent relief from the nightmares.

He glanced sideways at Michael and found him sitting with his head down, swaying slightly and making sniffling noises. _‘Pathetic.’_ Justin heard the voice so clearly that he actually looked around, half expecting to find Brian standing there rolling his eyes and huffing out a terribly bored sigh. Michael looked up just then, all big eyes and quivering chin and Justin knew that he heard it, too.

“It wasn’t your fault, Justin... no one blamed you.”

Justin snorted again. No, nobody blamed Justin. Nobody blamed Michael either. Nobody except Justin and Michael.

*~*~*

“Mr. Taylor?” The man rose from his desk and extended his hand to Justin as he entered the office. “I am Reginald Dewey. We spoke on the phone.” Justin almost smiled as he took the man’s hand. If someone had asked him to draw a picture of a funeral director, it would look exactly like Reginald Dewey of Dewey & Sons Funeral Home. Tall, thin bordering on gaunt, with sharp, sallow features and doleful eyes. His dark suit and white shirt did little to detract from his austere appearance – he could have stepped out of a gothic novel, yet his voice was unexpectedly gentle as he offered his condolences and shook Justin’s hand warmly. “Please, sit down.”

Justin sat down on the edge of one of the two leather wing chairs that faced Reginald’s desk and murmured his thanks as he glanced around the tastefully furnished room. Like the man himself, the decor was everything you expected a funeral director’s office would be. Formal, sedate, vaguely impersonal, all done in varying shades of taupe. Fucking taupe. It occurred to him that Brian would have hated it. Justin wondered briefly if he’d actually been here in this room, perhaps even sat in this chair while he made arrangements for his funeral. For his fucking funeral. He was shocked when Melanie told him what Brian had done. He’d been so stoic about the cancer. After the initial freak-out he’d gone right back to his usual persona – indomitable, imperturbable. He made it easy for Justin to believe that he wasn’t worried or scared and that he didn’t need or want anybody’s sympathy. He made it easy for Justin to forget. And so he did. He got on a plane and went to Hollywood and fucked a movie star while Brian planned his funeral. Shit.

His gaze slid to the door and beyond... To Brian’s quiet smile when he asked him, finally, to stay, and the way it froze in place when he’d told him why he couldn’t. To his welcome home with an empty drawer and no questions asked when Justin’s Hollywood dreams went down in flames. And then to his face as he shut the door on him that last time - when he decided that Brian’s kind of love wasn’t enough. To yesterday... to the profound sadness in his eyes when he’d realized that Justin was there, at Babylon, and not waiting for him at the airport. He’d believed in that moment that Justin had rejected him. Again. And for the first time, Justin realized that it wasn’t just sadness he’d seen in those hazel eyes, but resignation. Rejection was what Brian expected, because it was what everyone he’d ever let himself love had done. What he’d done himself, time after time and the knowledge filled him with regret so crushing he could hardly breathe from the weight of it. Did he know? Did Brian really know how much he loved him? How it nearly killed him to walk away? _Oh god, Brian, did you know?_ Justin felt a light touch on his shoulder and nearly leapt out of his chair.

“Jesus!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Taylor,” Reginald apologized, and gestured toward the bag in Justin’s hands. “I asked if I could take that for you?”

Justin looked down at the garment bag that he was clutching to his chest without even realizing. Brian’s clothes. His beautiful Armani suit, his Stefano Ricci shirt and tie. Justin laid the bag across his lap and carefully smoothed the wrinkles out, tears pricking the backs of his eyes as he imagined Brian’s outrage at the abuse of his precious clothes. Christ, and they called _him_ a princess.

“Mr. Taylor?”

“Sorry... Yeah,” he whispered huskily. He blinked away the images and reluctantly held the garment bag out to the director. “I think I got everything...”

Reginald looked down at the young man and his throat tightened with a rare wave of sympathy. He dealt with death every day and for all intents and purposes, had become largely immune to the drama of it all. You couldn’t do this job and keep your sanity if you let every sad story get to you. But this one... this one was rough. A bomb. In Pittsburgh! He’d handled the intake personally and seen the damage it had done. And he’d heard the story from one of his drivers. He knew what this kid had gone through already. “I’m sure this will be fine,” he said quietly. He took the bag from Justin and pressed a button on the phone. Almost instantly a woman appeared in the doorway. After handing off the bag and closing the door behind her, he drew a file folder from the credenza that took up most of one wall. To Justin’s surprise he didn’t return to his desk but instead he took the chair beside him, slipping on a pair of glasses as he opened the file. He took a moment to look over the papers, then cleared his throat and turned to Justin.

“As you know, Mr. Kinney had a pre-arranged plan with us. The financial side has already been taken care of, as have the preliminary arrangements. Of course, if there are any changes... anything at all we can do, please let me know. We have contacted Union Dale and arranged for interment tomorrow at eleven a.m. as you requested.” He looked up at Justin for confirmation and he nodded. “Mr. Kinney also made allowance for car service for his family and friends. If you’ll leave the necessary information with my assistant before you go...” Justin nodded again and he continued, “His instructions regarding the service were explicit – no clergy, no formal ceremony. Generally in these cases our staff is on hand to help direct the family in any way we can. We will have everything ready prior to your arrival and then take care of the committal once you are finished.” He heard Justin’s small, sharp intake of breath and looked up. “Do you have any questions, Mr. Taylor?”

Questions? Justin’s eyes narrowed and he swallowed a bitter laugh that threatened to tear him apart. _Questions?_ How about why did I hurt the only man I’ve ever loved? Why couldn’t I see that it was only ever a matter of time until he trusted in that love enough to believe in our future? Why couldn’t I be as patient with him as he was with me? Why did I claim to be ‘on to him’ like some smug little asshole, and then treat him as though he didn’t have any feelings at all? Why couldn’t we have just a little more time so I could tell him... tell him that none of that other shit was important? _Why the fuck did he have to die?_ But there were no answers to those questions – at least none that he could live with. Instead he asked the only thing that mattered to him now. “Can I see him?”

Reginald glanced at his watch and nodded, “Yes, of course.” He stood up and waited while Justin did the same and then led him into the hallway. “We have a lounge downstairs or you can wait in the Reflection Garden if you prefer. My assistant will come and find you when we are ready. It shouldn’t be very long. I understand the service will be private, but... will there be any other family or friends joining you today?” The director knew that privacy was a primary concern and Kinney’s instructions were clear cut, but he couldn’t believe that this kid would have to deal with all this on his own.

Justin closed his eyes for a moment. The news that there would be no church service or visitation did not go over well, particularly with Debbie. The idea of a private funeral with no priest was an affront to her Italian-Catholic sensibilities and she wasn’t shy about expressing her opinion. Lindsay was just as unhappy about it, if a little more subtle in voicing her disapproval, but Justin was determined to honor Brian’s wishes. He tried to imagine his frame of mind when he’d made the decisions he did, and he believed that Brian thought it would be the easiest thing for everybody when the time came. But he also believed that Brian never could have imagined these circumstances. He couldn’t have known that there would be no chance to say goodbye and Justin knew in his heart that Brian wouldn’t deny them that. And even more than that, he believed that Brian wouldn’t expect him to do this alone. And so at Justin’s discretion, his family - his real family - would be there. His heart told him it was the right thing to do. His stomach had other ideas.

It didn’t help that his connection to Brian and the bombing was already public knowledge. It took the press about five minutes to dig up the bashing and apparently the ‘tragic postscript to the young lovers’ story’ was too great an angle to resist. Even though it was Saturday, Cynthia had told him there were news vans parked in front of Kinnetik. He’d only barely managed to avoid a reporter lurking in front of the loft when he went to get Brian’s clothes. Fortunately Justin recognized him from the days following his release from the hospital and Hobbs’ so-called trial and he'd managed to sneak in and out the back entrance. The guy had been dogging Justin for an interview – how he got his cell phone number, Justin had no clue. Jennifer had finally stopped answering her phone altogether. The night before, an impromptu candlelight vigil for the victims had gathered in the streets around Babylon and he knew the police had to be called in after a group of anti-gay protesters showed up, carrying signs and chanting their hate-filled slogans. They goaded the shocked and grieving mourners until one man, whose daughter had been critically injured in the bombing, lost it. He attacked the leader of the group and beat him senseless amid the taunts and jeers of the hostile onlookers. Anger swelled and rippled through the crowd until it erupted into a melee of fists and blood and shouted obscenities that took two full units of Pittsburgh’s finest to bring under control. The thought of a repeat performance made Justin’s blood run cold but Reginald had assured him of the funeral home’s absolute discretion and Justin swore the small circle of friends to secrecy before giving them the details.

“Yes... some. Later... they’ll be here later on.” Justin swallowed the knot in his throat and took a deep breath. Christ, he needed a cigarette. He pulled a pack out of his jacket and looked around for any indication of an ashtray but found a discreet ‘No Smoking’ sign on the reception desk instead.

“You can smoke in the Garden if you wish.” Reginald pointed to double glass doors which led to a large courtyard. Justin nodded his thanks and headed for the doors. “Mr. Taylor, a moment please?”

Justin stopped as Reginald stepped into his office again and emerged holding a large, white plastic bag with ‘A.M.H.’ stenciled on the side. His stomach did a little flip when he saw the name written in black marker beneath the hospital’s logo. _Kinney, Brian._ He actually took a step back as the director held the bag out to him.

“Mr. Kinney’s personal effects. The hospital sent them along,” he offered by way of explanation, somewhat puzzled by Justin’s reaction.

Justin stared at the bag for nearly a full minute before he could bring himself to take it. He could tell by the size and weight of it that it had to be Brian’s jacket. He had a flash of Nancy cutting through the soft, black leather. Of the dark, painful looking bruises beneath it. Of the blood. He must have swayed on his feet because the next thing he knew, the director had him by the upper arms and was guiding him to the bench that stood beside the double doors. He sat down heavily and pulled the bag close and tried to breathe. In through the nose – out through the nose, nice and slow. Pause. Again. In. Out. Nice and slow. The Sigh Breath, they called it – an exercise Brian found on the internet to help him through the nightmares when he woke up terrified and gasping for air. It worked better than any of the drugs or bullshit therapy sessions. But then there had been a pair of strong, comforting arms to curl into when it was over. Fuck.

“Are you all right, Mr. Taylor?” The blond nodded, but haunted blue eyes in a face gone deathly pale belied the action. He’d witnessed enough over his years in the business to know when someone was in trouble and this was a young man close to the edge. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

Justin took another deep breath and shook his head, “No, I’m all right.” He looked up into the concerned face of the director and realized how unconvincing he sounded. He cleared his throat and tried to smile. “Really, I’m fine. I... I just need to see him.”

Reginald studied him for a moment then nodded. “Of course. I’ll go and see how much longer it will be.”

Justin watched him go until he disappeared through a door at the end of the hallway and then stood up again. He pushed open the doors and stepped out into the Reflection Garden. Calling it a garden was a generous description. It might be an appropriate name in a few more weeks, but today it was just a cold, dreary courtyard, full of bare-limbed trees and mulch-covered flower beds. The only relief came from the small but hearty evergreens that dotted both sides of the pathway winding through the garden. He followed their trail to a small, lattice gazebo that held two wrought iron chairs on either side of another bench, this one ornately molded concrete. The cold cement leached the warmth from his bones as he sat down, and yet it felt right somehow, almost soothing. He set the bag of Brian’s things down on the bench beside him and leaned back, lighting his cigarette. He took a long drag and blew it out slowly in thick streams of smoke that hung in the air, blending with his frozen breath until it surrounded him like low-hanging clouds that perfectly matched the bleak sky. Where yesterday there had been a hint of spring in the air, today was decidedly wintry. Damp and sunless – the kind of day where the sky stayed the same cold shade of gray and the temperature never changed from sunrise to sunset. The kind of day that could see him sitting in this fucking godforsaken garden waiting to see the love of his life for the last time. And like the frigid concrete that chilled him through, it felt hopelessly right. Jesus.

He took a last drag off the cigarette then crushed it out under his heel and let his head drop into his hands. Jesus fucking Christ.

He heard the door open and footsteps approaching and as badly as he wanted to see Brian, he also wanted to run and hide. Because once he went back inside that was it – the last time. The last fucking time. At that moment, sitting on the cold bench for the rest of his life seemed preferable. The footsteps stopped in front of him and he saw a pair of scuffed, brown boots – a far cry from the polished black loafers the funeral director had been wearing. Justin looked up into the haggard, sleep-deprived face of Carl Horvath.

“How’s it going, kid?”

Justin shrugged in response, “It’s going.” He glanced at his watch and then back up at Carl. “You’re early. He…Brian isn’t… they aren’t ready yet.” Justin looked past him toward the doors, expecting to see Debbie barreling through them, but the detective appeared to be alone.

“I know.” Carl reached down to move the bag at Justin’s side so he could sit. He was too tired to do more than raise an eyebrow when Justin snatched it up as though he were attempting to steal it. Apart from a quick shower at home yesterday afternoon and a couple of meal breaks, he’d been on duty for forty-eight hours straight and counting. Forty-eight of the toughest hours of his career. Not even during the Stockwell debacle had tensions run so high and he’d witnessed some things that made him ashamed to wear the same badge as some of his so-called friends on the force. Carl sat down with a bone-weary sigh and took a sideways glance at Justin – the kid looked about as used-up as he felt. And now there was this. “Debbie told me you’d be here.”

“What’s up, Carl?” Justin eyed the detective warily as seconds ticked by with no response. Carl wasn’t exactly garrulous at the best of times, but every instinct Justin had was telling him that the man would rather be anywhere else but there.

Carl scratched at the unfamiliar stubble that shadowed his jaw, buying a little time while he considered how best to tell Justin what he’d come here to say. Of all the shitty things he’d had to do over the past two days, this was near the top of the list, and that was saying something. It was also just about the god-damndest thing he’d seen in nearly thirty years on the job. Experience told him that straight up was the best way to deliver bad news – the kid practically being family didn’t change that, so he shrugged into his Detective Horvath role and plunged in.

“We have a suspect in custody.”

“Seriously? But… how? Who?”

“Guy’s name is Lonnie Halstead – lives right here in Shadyside. He walked into the precinct this morning and asked to speak to whoever was in charge.”

“He... he confessed? Just like that?” Justin eyes went wide, reflecting Carl’s incredulity right back at him. The detective shook his head, his mouth twisting as though he’d tasted something nasty.

“He didn’t just confess – the son-of-a-bitch proclaimed it. Like he was expecting a fucking reward.” Their first instinct was to ignore him – sadly, things like this regularly brought out the crazies. Some of them truly delusional, some fame-whores, some just looking for a warm place to sleep and a free meal courtesy of the state. But this guy had proof. Blueprints, schematics, details about the bomb itself, photos of the inside of the club. And a neatly typed, double spaced, eighty five page manifesto of exactly how the Homosexual Agenda was ruining the very fabric of American life and his plan to put a stop to it. “We’re still waiting on some forensics, but he looks good for it. We believe he is responsible for planting the bomb, Justin.”

Holy shit. Justin took a heartbeat or two to absorb that. It was incredible news and he knew he should be relieved that the bastard was off the street. But something about the whole situation was... off. Why would Carl come all this way to tell him when he would be seeing him in a few hours anyway? He was about to ask him just that when the door opened again and Tucker appeared, with Jennifer right behind him looking none-too-steady on her crutches. She carefully maneuvered her way through the door, then stopped and placed a hand on Tucker’s chest, tilting her face up to meet him as he leaned down and kissed her. She said something Justin couldn’t hear, smiling at him as he lightly caressed her cheek before he turned and walked back inside.

They both stood up as she made her way over to them and Justin hugged her somewhat awkwardly as she kissed him hello. He was still reeling from this latest development, but it occurred to him to wonder how she’d gotten here, since he’d borrowed her car and he was fairly certain she hadn’t ridden over on the back of Tucker’s motorcycle. It wasn’t lost on Justin that Carl didn’t greet her, nor she him. He did offer her the seat he’d just vacated though, and she took it gratefully, her aching shoulders sagging as she set the crutches aside and sat down.

“What are you doing here, Mom?”

Jennifer looked up into eyes that were a larger, bluer version of her own and couldn’t help think of how they’d shone with happiness, full of passion and hope as he’d stood in her office and declared, ‘I’m going with him.’ That light was dimmed now, shadowed by grief and anger, but worse, by the weary cynicism of someone who has been hurt too much to expect anything else. Looking at her son, Jennifer had the uncanny feeling that somehow, he already knew why Carl had brought her along. He sat down beside her and she had to look away, unwilling to witness that last glimmer of innocence flicker and die.

“Mom?”

“Justin...”

Her furtive, almost plaintive glance at the detective sent a frisson of panic through Justin. He ran his tongue over lips gone suddenly dry. “I asked you what you’re doing here,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Mother?”

Jennifer placed a bandaged hand on Justin’s arm and stroked it soothingly. “Sweetheart, please don’t get upset... we don’t really know anything for sure...”

“What don’t we know? Don’t get upset about _what?”_ Justin looked back and forth between his mother and the detective, his anxiety growing with every second that passed in silence. But neither of them seemed willing to meet his eyes. “Carl? What is she talking about?”

“Justin, please...” Jennifer’s voice broke, and Justin’s patience along with it.

“One of you tell me what’s going on _right fucking now!”_

“Take it easy, son,” Carl said, with a pointed look at the distraught woman at Justin’s side.

Justin bristled at Carl’s tone, but the pleading look on his mother’s face kept him from saying something he would regret. He bit down hard on his lip and nodded. “I’m sorry, just... tell me what’s going on.”

“When Halstead confessed, he said that he gained access to Babylon by sneaking in as part of the crew from the maintenance company Brian used. Seems like the service uses temps on Mondays for extra help to clean up after the weekend, so nobody paid him any attention. He was able to plant the bomb behind the bar without being noticed.”

“Monday?” Justin shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. We didn’t even know the benefit was going to be there until Wednesday.”

Carl smiled grimly. The kid was pretty sharp – it had taken the detective who took Halstead’s confession a lot longer to make that connection. “That’s right, Justin. Neither did Halstead.” Carl paused, fully expecting that Justin would make the next connection as well, watching him blanch when he did.

“Oh my god... it wasn’t about Stop Prop 14 at all, was it? It was Babylon...”

Carl nodded. “I’m afraid so. It seems that he was determined to ‘clean up’ Pittsburgh and Babylon was first on his agenda. His original plan was to detonate the bomb on Friday night when the club was normally busiest, but when he saw the signs for the benefit on Thursday, he took it as a ‘sign from God’.”

Justin made a concentrated effort to push down the panic he felt rising in his chest. “Okay... so the guy is a sick fuck who hates gay people. I wish that was news,” Justin said as calmly as he could. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“This Halstead, up until about two weeks ago, he was second in command of a group calling themselves Citizens For Truth. They’re a smaller, more aggressive group of ultra-conservatives that splintered off from the Americans For Truth. Most of the people we arrested at the vigil last night were members.”

Justin nodded, prompting Carl to go on. Carl stared down at Justin for a moment and wished mightily that he could just leave it be. The kid had been through enough in the past couple of days to bring down ten men and this was not going to make it any easier. But it was going to get out one way or another and he deserved to know the truth before he got ambushed with it.

“These people – the Citizens For Truth – they’ve only been on the radar for about a year. We haven’t been able to prove it but we believe they have been responsible for a lot of the more aggressive anti-gay activity in the city recently. So far they’ve mostly stuck to intimidation – property damage, picketing gay-friendly establishments, a couple of incidents that got out of hand – like the vigil last night...” Carl paused as Justin registered his disgust with a derisive snort and an impatient, cut-to-the-chase wave of his hand. “What I’m saying is, they don’t have a lot of support from the usual suspects – they’ve distanced themselves from the mainstream, so it’s a little easier for their members and financial supporters to remain anonymous, and I have to be honest, until now nobody has looked that closely.” He drew a sheet of paper out of the envelope he’d been fidgeting with ever since he arrived. He read it over quickly and then he and Jennifer exchanged that same furtive look again as he handed the list of names to Justin. And it was then he suddenly understood what Carl was trying to tell him. Even as the paper slipped from his shaking hand and fluttered to the ground at his feet, Justin knew he was going to be sick.

He barely made it to his knees before he lost what remained of the breakfast Daphne had forced him to eat. _Oh god. Oh fuck._ This couldn’t be happening. But the paper on the ground beside him said otherwise. _Ohfuckohfuckohfuck._ He felt a firm hand on his shoulder as Carl helped to steady him. He heard his mother’s voice and knew she was trying to explain away what was inexplicable. _‘Halstead acted on his own... the leader of the group renounced him... no proof that the organization or its supporters knew what he was planning...’_ He saw Carl nodding his head, confirming all she said but it didn’t matter. Not one fucking word of it mattered. Brian... _oh god, Brian._ All those people. Dead. Murdered. And there was every possibility that his own fucking father had financed the monster who killed them.

“Jesus Christ,” Justin moaned, sitting back on his haunches. “Brian... all those people...” He looked at the brace on his mother’s ankle, at her bandaged hands clasped together in her lap. “Did he even care that you might be there? That... that.. I...” Oh god. He knew his father hated that he was gay, that he hated Brian... that he blamed Brian. There was a time when Justin thought that he might come around some day but that hope breathed its last on the sidewalk outside his store when Craig had him arrested for trespassing. _‘I think he would rather see me dead than gay.’_ He’d said those words to his mother after she bailed him out, but he never truly believed... not really... “He did it. He really did it.”

Jennifer tried again. “Justin, they don’t think that your father knew...”

“Don’t even try it, Mom. Don’t even try to defend him!” Justin snatched the police report up and shoved it at her. _Craig Taylor (Taylor Electronics)_ was the third of about ten names on the list. “It’s right there in black and fucking white.” He rocked back and forth, still on his knees, fisting his hands in his hair in an attempt to keep his head from exploding.

“I’m not defending him. Supporting those people, being a part of such hate, it’s... despicable.” Jennifer tried to reach for him, to comfort him, but he drew away from her, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, please, I know your father has said and done some horrible things and I’ll never forgive him for the way he’s treated you, but you have to listen to me Justin. He didn’t know what this man had planned... he couldn’t have known...”

“Why couldn’t he? Because he’s such a respectable, god-fearing Christian? Because he’s so decent and fucking moral?” Justin shrugged off Carl’s attempt to help him as he got to his feet and began pacing a short path back and forth in front of them. “That is such total _bullshit!_ He’s a homophobic prick and he _hates us,_ Mother. He hates having a fag for a son and he’d rather see me dead. Only... only I’m not...” Justin stopped short. Oh god. “I’m not dead. Brian is...” his voice faltered as the true implications of Craig’s involvement hit him and he sank down onto the bench beside her. Jennifer watched helplessly as his mind raced inevitably toward the conclusion she knew it would, no matter how wrong-headed it was. When he finally spoke, the devastation in his voice broke her heart. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? Brian is dead because of me.”

“Oh Justin, no, that’s just not true.”

“It is. Dad has been threatening Brian since the first day you told him his name.” Jennifer flinched, but wisely said nothing. He wasn’t wrong about that. “He hated him, Mom. You know he blamed him for _perverting_ me, for turning me queer. Jesus...” Justin pressed the balls of his hands against his temples as he felt the familiar throbbing behind his eyes that signaled a migraine was on its way. “He finally found a way to get him out of my life. So don’t even try to tell me this was just some fucked up coincidence, because I don’t fucking believe you.” Justin dropped his head into his hands. “He should have just killed me, too.”

“Justin!” Jennifer took him by the shoulders. “Sweetheart, look at me.” She turned him to her, prepared to reason away the hurt and betrayal she knew he must be feeling. What she wasn’t prepared for was the cold fury in her beautiful son’s eyes.

“Brian would be alive if it wasn’t for me... for my fucking father.” He nearly choked on the words that burned like acid in his throat. “He should have made sure I was dead, too, because I swear to God, if I get the chance, I’ll kill _him.”_

“Justin, you don’t mean that,” Jennifer gasped, her eyes darting between her son and the detective standing over them. “Please, Justin...” her voice broke and she looked helplessly up at Carl. “He doesn’t mean that...”

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?” Justin’s lip curled into a sneer. “Because the police will take care of it? Like they took care of Hobbs? What a fucking joke that is!”

“That’s enough, Justin,” Carl said, but Justin was beyond reasoning. He turned on Carl, his voice shaking with anger.

“It’s not enough and you know it. He’ll walk away with nothing more than a slap on the wrist because none of you give a flying fuck about us! What’s a few less fags in the world, right? You’ll probably give him a fucking medal!” Justin shook off his mother’s hand and stood up, but Carl stepped in front of him. “Get out of my way, Carl,” Justin hissed, trying to step around the detective.

“I said that’s enough,” Carl repeated his warning, his patience reaching its limit. He folded his arms across his chest and stood his ground. The two men faced off for a moment before Justin finally shook his head and looked away. “Sit down, please.” Carl’s tone softened, but brooked no argument and truth be told, Justin didn’t really feel like his legs were all that reliable at the moment. Reluctantly, he sat back down.

Carl scrubbed a hand over his mouth and blew out a long breath between his fingers. “First of all, I’m sorry, Justin. It’s a hell of a thing, what happened. I thought a lot of Brian, and I know Debbie loved him like a son. We are going to put this son-of-a-bitch away.” Justin stared straight ahead, barely acknowledging Carl’s assurances through his clenched teeth. Carl sighed heavily and pulled one of the wrought-iron chairs around, sitting down to face him.

“Listen to me.” Carl reached over and put a firm hand on Justin’s shoulder, waiting until the younger man finally looked at him. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I promise you kid, if I thought for one minute that your father, or any of the other people on that list were working directly with this guy, they’d already be in that cell right alongside him. I only decided to tell you and your mother about his involvement with Citizens For Truth because it’s going to be public knowledge very soon. Do you understand that?” Justin nodded slightly. Carl watched Justin’s face carefully – he’d been a cop for too long and delivered too much bad news in his day not to recognize the struggle the kid was having. Wanting so desperately to believe what he was hearing but needing to hold on to the anger, because being angry hurt a whole lot less than being powerless. At least for a little while.

“Halstead had a copy of their manifesto with him when he showed up at the station, but he called it a primer – ‘a guide for weak-minded recreants, afraid to expose the depraved and immoral denizens of Pittsburgh’s rotting underbelly for what they are’.” Carl shook his head. “The guy is bat-shit fucking crazy, but he’s smart. Has a degree in Engineering from Pitt.” He let out a short, disgusted snort. “Anyway, the point is, Halstead wanted to make it clear that God had chosen him to be The One. He was adamant that he left the CFT behind because they weren’t ‘willing to take the initiatives’ he deemed necessary. Of course Elmquist, the leader of the group, tells a different story. He said they kicked Halstead to the curb a month or so ago – said the guy was making the other members ‘uncomfortable’ and threatened to turn him in if he didn’t back off.” Carl shook his head again at that idea. Jesus, how crazy did you have to be to scare _these_ people?

“And you believe it? Just because those assholes say so?”

Carl gave him a sideways look at that. “No, I believe it because twenty years of experience tells me it’s the truth. Once Halstead realized the other members of the group weren’t on board with his agenda he went underground. Maybe he fixated on Babylon because of your dad’s obsession with it – with Brian. We just don’t know that. Did they know that he was dangerous? No doubt. Did they suspect he was capable of something like this? Probably. And I’ll be honest, none of the people we questioned seemed all that sorry about what happened, including your father. Putting places like Babylon out of business is at the top of their priority list – they never made any secret of that.” Justin flinched at that and Carl reached out and grasped his shoulder again, this time with a comforting squeeze. “I’m sorry, Justin. I know it hurts that he’s any part of this at all, but all the evidence says that Halstead acted alone. I’m not saying your father is innocent – I’m just telling you we don’t believe he’s guilty of this.”

Justin nodded mutely. His misdirected anger at the detective dissipated as Carl’s words sank in, but he felt no relief, only the crushing weight of the grief that rushed in to take its place. Not just for Brian, but for the final, irrevocable loss of his father. Because no matter what the evidence, no matter what Carl or his mother or God himself said, Craig Taylor was every bit as responsible for Brian’s death as Lonnie Halstead. And he was dead to him.

They sat in silence for a long moment, until the courtyard door opened again and Reginald Dewey appeared. “Excuse me, Mr. Taylor, I’m sorry to interrupt but I thought you would want to know. If you’d like to come inside, we’re ready for you.”

Justin massaged the heel of his palms against his throbbing temples; he hadn’t had a migraine in over a year and the one that was building promised to be a motherfucker. The ibuprofen he’d been popping all day barely touched it, but his prescription meds would put him on his ass and he had to make it through one more day. He shook two more out of the bottle in his pocket and swallowed them dry, grimacing at the bitter taste they left on his tongue then followed his mother and the detective back inside. Just one more day, please God.

*~*~*

Justin had very few real memories of the day they buried Brian. Oh, he knew the facts - if he were forced to recount them, he could - but they didn’t feel like memories, more like a story he’d been told that happened to someone else.

He remembered the sick feeling he’d had when the car pulled into the cemetery and he saw the small crowd gathered along the side of the road. All hopes of a private service had gone to hell when someone in the D.A.’s office tipped the media to Lonnie Halstead’s confession. The story was all over the front page of the Sunday papers, along with details of the funeral of his most prominent victim. He recognized some of them - citizens of Liberty Avenue come to pay their respects to one of their own. But most were strangers to him and it wasn’t empathy or compassion he saw in their faces or on the signs they carried. Thanks to Carl and a few of his friends on the force they had at least been able to keep them at a distance.

He remembered Debbie.

They were all there of course. His mom and Tucker, Ted, Emmett and Drew, Cynthia, along with a few of the staff from Kinnetik and Babylon. And there was Michael, barely keeping it together while Ben stood by his side; Mel holding an inconsolable Lindsay; even sweet little Gus, so innocent and brave. Yet it was the image of Deb, standing silently beside Brian’s grave that he would carry with him forever. Indomitable, ageless, invincible Debbie. But he saw the shadow of a grief too deep for tears in her eyes and the way she seemed to shrink into Carl as they stood there. Watching her say goodbye to the man she considered her second son, Justin saw a glimpse of the frail old woman Debbie Novotny would one day become. He’d gone and hugged her then and let her hold him for a long time. Maybe he even held on a little longer than she did.

“He loved you so fucking much,” he’d said before he finally let go. Debbie took his face in both hands and gave him a firm kiss on the forehead then wiped the lipstick stain off with her thumb.

“You bet your ass he did.”

He remembered they each talked a little about what Brian meant to them, and that Ted had actually made them all laugh out loud.

It was weird that he couldn’t recall exactly what Ted said, but he remembered laughing. Really laughing. And then crying. And then feeling Gus’s little hand tugging on his, telling him it was okay to be sad sometimes, but it was okay to be happy, too. He’d lifted Gus up into his arms and held him while the rest of them spoke and then it was his turn.

He remembered that it was freezing and that the sky was painfully blue and that it had actually pissed him off because what fucking right did the sun have to be shining so brightly when Jesus Christ they were burying Brian Kinney and that was so far beyond fucked up that he couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around it. Maybe if it just hadn’t been so fucking sunny he might have seen what was happening before... before everything went to shit. Of course none of them really saw it coming.

“Sometimes it feels like I’ve loved him my whole life,” he’d begun when he was finally able to speak. “I guess maybe I have, because my life... my real life began the day I met him.” He paused and smiled softly at the child in his arms. “Brian Kinney was the best man I’ve ever known.”

“Brian Kinney is burning in Hell where he belongs!”

He remembered the utter quiet that followed those words – as though the whole world had been rendered silent by their malice. His last clear memories were of turning around, of the pain he felt as he realized their source, as he recognized the voice that had read him bedtime stories, the voice that had soothed him as a child, the voice now shouting out cruel words that cut him to the bone... of seeing the man he once idolized emerging from the crowd, the man looking at him with such contempt that it took his breath away.

“Degenerate pervert,” Craig spat the words as he closed the distance between them. “He deserved to die!”

Justin felt Gus trembling in his arms, heard his tears start and yet he could still do little more than stare mutely as Craig reached out and stroked the boy’s cheek.

“You’re too young to understand this now son, but you’re much better off this way.”

It was Melanie who reacted first, stepping right up in Craig’s face. “Don’t you dare touch my son you son-of-a-bitch!”

“Don’t Mel,” Justin said, pulling her back.

“The fuck I won’t,” Mel screamed, but Justin pressed Gus into her arms and implored her.

“Please, Mel, take him!” He pushed them in the direction of the waiting limos. “Get him out of here!”

Lindsay was already tugging her towards the car with Ben and Emmett flanking them. Mel shot Craig a look that could have cut steel as they herded them into the limo. “Fucking asshole.”

When they were safely inside and the car pulled away, Justin turned around again to face his father. Anger coiled in his chest, curled around his heart like a snake, constricting it with its cold, deadly embrace. It pushed out the fear and sadness and grief until all that was left was rage.

“You fucking _monster._ He’s just a little boy.”

“I’m not the monster here, Justin. You and your deviant friends brought this on yourselves. Kinney got what he deserved.”

The rest he only remembered in fragments – a montage of sounds and images that he could neither completely recall or forget. His father’s jaw shattering when his fist connected the first time. The absolute satisfaction of seeing him drop to his knees. Jennifer shrieking at Carl to do something - Ben and Drew holding the detective back when he tried. _Get up, you fucking piece of shit._ Knocking him down again when he did. _Just a little boy._ And again. _I’ll always be your queer son._ And again. _Never again!_ Strong hands finally pulling him away. _‘Get him out of here, now!’_

*~*~*

Justin traced his finger over the scars on his knuckles - faint reminders of wounds that would never really heal. He wished that he could blame Michael and for a while, he had, because it was so much easier than the truth - that ignorance and fear put the bomb in Lonnie Halstead’s hands. That an ugly twist of fate brought Brian to the club that night. That there simply was no reason for any of it beyond man’s infinite capacity to hate what he couldn’t understand, to destroy what he couldn’t conquer.

“Brian didn’t die because of you or me, Michael. He died because the Lonnie Halsteads of the world believe we should be punished for our sins.”

“But he never would’ve been there if it wasn’t for me... Jesus, Justin, there wouldn’t even have been any benefit if I hadn’t asked him for the club. He did it for me,” Michael sniffled.

“It’s time to let it go, Michael. Cut this shit out. Let him go.”

“I can’t,” he muttered. “I fucked up so bad, Justin. How can you not hate me?”

Justin reached into his pocket again, for a cigarette this time. He needed something to occupy his hands and it was that or throttle Michael. He lit one and took a calming drag off it while he considered the question. He waited until Michael finally looked up at him again then answered him honestly.

“I did. For a while, I hated you more than you can possibly fucking imagine.”

Michael groaned audibly. As much as he’d believed in his heart that everybody blamed him, hearing it from Justin’s own lips was like a kick in the stomach. He blinked hard to keep the tears at bay - he wouldn’t cry now. He would face Justin and accept the judgment he’d been waiting two years for.

“I did hate you, but not for the reasons you think.” Justin pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “God, Michael. Do know how much Brian loved you?”

Michael flinched at the hard edge on Justin’s voice, but nodded his head meekly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Justin continued. “I don’t think you have any fucking idea or you would not be pissing all over his memory like this.”

“I.. I’m not...” Michael stammered.

“Yes, you are, Michael. You’re driving away the people who love you the most for whatever fucked up reasons. You’re killing yourself with this shit," Justin kicked at the empty bottle of JB in frustration, "and you’re doing it in Brian’s name. I should kick your ass for that, you asshole.” Michael’s wide-eyed disbelief was almost comical and it made Justin want to shake him until his teeth rattled - the man couldn’t see the forest _or_ the trees.

“But... you don’t know,” he insisted. “You don’t know what a shit I was to him... the things I said.” _Just because we’ve been friends our whole lives doesn’t mean we have to go on being friends. The Brian and Mikey show is over._

“I know, Michael. Everybody knew. You told him to fuck off in the middle of a public art gallery, remember?” Michael winced but Justin was unrelenting. “And I walked out on him in front of everybody we knew, at a party he threw for me. With the guy I was fucking behind his back.” Justin paused and shook his head. “How far back do we go, Michael? Where does it stop? We all hurt him. Just like he hurt us. That’s what happens when you love someone. You get that kind of power, and sometimes... well sometimes you fuck it up.”

“I know. Jesus, I know that.” Michael pressed his fingers into his eyes. “He tried... he reached out to me, Justin. If I’d just told him... told him I still loved him instead of making him come to me like some kind of... I just wanted... God help me, I just wanted to hear him say it. I wanted him to apologize to my face. That’s why he came to the club.” He swallowed the sob that caught in his throat, his voice barely a whisper now. ‘Because I needed to see him come down a peg before I forgave him. I never even fucking asked him to forgive _me._ ” He turned his face up to the deepening blue of the cloudless sky, the tears flowing freely now. “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I’d give anything if I could take it back.”

“But you can’t take it back, Michael. And you know that Brian would be the first one to call bullshit on useless regrets. You _know_ that – you’re the one who taught me about the Kinney Operating Manual. You guys were brothers. That never changed.” Michael’s chin dropped to his chest and Justin took him by the arms and this time he did give him a shake until he looked up again. “He would _hate_ what you’re doing.”

Justin searched the distraught brown eyes and saw the ache in them, as fresh as that day so long ago when he’d seen them through the glass doors of the emergency room. In many ways they were both still caught in that moment and he knew then that there was only one way they could be free of it. He let go of Michael and drew in a deep, deliberate breath then let it out slowly. He closed his eyes and let the memories come again, each one like a knife to his heart, the words spilling from him like blood from the wounds they inflicted. “He was so fucking brave...”

Michael stifled a gasp as he realized what Justin was about to do. They all knew that Justin had been there with Brian... at the end. There were rumors about what had happened. Michael always suspected that Carl knew more than he let on, but nobody ever spoke of it beyond the gossip queens and their whispered tales. Only Justin knew the truth and to Michael’s knowledge he had never shared those last moments with anyone. “Justin, you don’t have to do this...”

But Justin went on as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “He was in so much pain. What it did to him... fucking bastards...” He paused and shaded his eyes with his hand for a moment and gave his head a little shake as if to dispel the images of Brian’s broken body, trapped beneath the wreckage. He wrapped his arms around himself as the memories engulfed him, his face reflecting every bit of the remembered agony. “He knew, Michael... He knew he was dying.” Tears spilled unheeded down Justin’s cheek and Michael knew he was somewhere else now – someplace nobody else could go. “He was so fucking brave. He comforted me," he said, sounding almost pissed about it. “The fucker knew he was dying, and _he_ was comforting _me._ But he was so weak... it was killing him just to breathe. He tried so hard to hang on...” Justin pressed his fist hard against his lips as if to stop any more of the memory from escaping, but seemed unaware of the tremors in his right hand as it clenched in his lap.

Michael reached for it without thinking and stilled it with a gentle squeeze. It took a moment before Justin looked down at their hands and then back up at Michael, his eyes haunted but completely focused now.

“He only asked two things of me, Michael. He asked me to look after Gus, to make sure he didn’t forget about him.”

He paused again and suddenly Michael was afraid – he wanted very badly for Justin to stop right there, because he was fairly certain that what he was going to say next would crush him. Or maybe save him. The bitch of it was, either possibility terrified him. He’d been living with the guilt and shame for so long now he wasn’t quite sure he could let it go. But there was no stopping. Justin coughed lightly to clear away the tears that clogged his throat, then looked Michael right in the eyes.

“The only other person he thought of was you, Michael. He wanted to know that you were okay. That you would be okay. He made me fucking _promise_ him.” Justin let that sink in for a moment. He knew Michael was teetering on the edge – he wore every emotion he owned on his sleeve and it was obvious that he wanted to believe. He just needed permission to do it – a little shove off the cliff. Justin steeled himself and tore a page directly from the Kinney manual. “Do you get that, Michael? Brian’s dying fucking wish was for you to be okay and you’re throwing everything away because you can’t get the fuck over yourself long enough to realize that he loved you his whole fucking life. He. Loved. You. None of that other shit matters. None of it.”

For a moment there was nothing - no reaction at all. Michael sat motionless, silent, so still that Justin started to wonder if he _had_ actually understood him. And then he... well there was no other word for it, he crumbled. Dissolved. Came the fuck apart.

“Oh god, I loved him so much.” He fell into Justin, sobbing. Not the drunken, self-pitying tears he’d been crying for two years. For maybe the first time, he was crying for Brian, his friend, his brother. His hero. “I miss him, Justin. I miss him every fucking day,” Michael whispered after a while. Justin put an arm around his friend’s shoulder and squeezed.

“Yeah, me too.”

Justin stood up, brushed the grass and dirt off his pants and then reached down to him. “Get off your ass, Novotny. I’ve got a party to get to.”

Michael looked up, squinting into the setting sun and nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

And somewhere, Justin knew without a doubt, Brian smiled.

*~*~*


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we come to the end... I thought that after all he's been through, Justin deserved to have the final words to this story, and so, here they are.

_  
March 28, 2005_

 _  
Dear Brian,_

 _This is bullshit. Alex, you remember him right? Dr. Alex Wilder. Anyway, he says if I can't talk to him, I should talk to you. Like I said, bullshit. Right? He told me that he knew you – I get the feeling that he didn’t just mean biblically. (Fuck you, Alex – you made me write this shit down, so deal with it.) Whatever. He says I can’t see him again until I write something down, and I think I need to see him again. So here it is. Something, written down.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _March 30, 2005_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _So... shrinks don’t really have much of a sense of humor, do they. Okay, maybe it wasn’t all that funny, but shit, what am I supposed to say? I guess the thing is... The thing is that I didn’t mean it. You know that right? I swear to God, I didn’t mean it. It was just... it’s just too fucking much, you know? The funeral, my piece-of-shit father, the media. The will. Jesus Christ, Brian. I don’t even know._

 _These past few weeks since you... I just wish... I just wish I could forget. How fucking ironic is that? I never understood when you said that, not really. I never understood how much pain was in those words, how much of a burden you carried over something that wasn’t your fault, something you couldn’t have stopped. Sometimes I really resented you for it – because all I wanted was to remember. I understand now. Because I would give anything to just forget. Not you. Fuck, never you._

 _It’s so hard, Brian. I just wanted to forget for five fucking minutes. I guess it worked.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _April 2, 2005_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _I saw Alex again today. I’ve told him that it’s over, that I’m okay. And I am, honest to God. Or at least, I will be. I know he doesn’t believe me so I guess I’ll probably keep seeing him for a while, but I know that I’m going to be okay, either way. He really isn’t that bad a guy, for a shrink. He’s not going to be reading this – he says the first ones were just an exercise to get a ‘dialogue’ started – but I kind of miss talking to you, so just stop rolling your eyes and listen, okay? I want to explain. Don’t worry, I know the rules – no excuses, no apologies, no regrets. Afraid I can only cover two of those, because fuck me, I am sorry._

 _I haven’t been sleeping. The migraines are back with a vengeance and my hand hurts like a motherfucker. Fortunately I didn’t break any bones, but the cuts are taking a long time to heal. I only hope the same can be said for that sonofabitch’s face. Anyway, I know I don’t have to explain pain management to you. A few pills, a little weed, a lot of alcohol, a few more pills. Whatever it takes to get through the day, right? And it worked, at least for a little while. Until I’d wake up alone in this shabby apartment that I was oh-so-fucking proud of, shaking and crying and missing you so fucking much I thought I might die of it._

 _Jesus, Brian. Maybe I can only cover one of those rules of yours, because I do have regrets. How can I not regret knowing that if I’d just had a little more faith in us – the same fucking faith I asked you to have – we would have had our future together. You were always the one who took the chances. You were the one who risked everything. How did I not see that? And now, how can I stop seeing it every time I close my eyes? I know I don’t have to explain nightmares to you, either._

 _Anyway. I was telling you what happened. Kinnetik is gone._

 _You have to know Cynthia and Ted tried their damnedest, but it didn’t take long for the sharks to start circling. Remson and Brown Athletics didn’t even wait a week before calling emergency meetings. Of course they expressed their deepest regrets, but the campaigns currently in progress would be their last with Kinnetik. Eyeconics and Home Station followed suit right behind them – so very sorry, but the bottom line was the same: You were Kinnetik. It was your vision, your bold and innovative voice that grabbed the world by the balls and demanded its attention, and that voice, your voice ...was gone. The writing was on the wall and honestly, I don’t think anybody had the heart to fight without you, Brian. And so last week, one month to the day after... because yeah, God is just that twisted, Kinnetik closed its doors._

 _We were all at Deb’s when Ted came to tell us it was done and fuck, I don’t know – it just killed me. Everything you worked so hard for, gone – like it never existed. I don’t know why it cut so deep, after all the shit that went down. It was inevitable, we all knew it was coming, but it hurt. It hurt like another bat to the head. Like I said, just too fucking much. God, or Fate, or whoever is in charge of this fucked up universe needs to find another toy to play with, because really? Seriously? How much is enough? What else do we have to lose before it’s fucking enough?_

 _I took off for my studio – I just had to do something with all this pain, all the anger. I started painting, if you could even call it that – slashing at the canvas with blacks and blues and flashes of white and one terrible streak of crimson. Rage._

 _I don’t really know how it happened, but I swear, I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. Just the opposite, really. I just wanted the pain to stop – all of it. My head, my hand, my fucking soul. Too many pills washed down with too many shots and I closed my eyes, and finally... finally felt the blessed nothingness I’d been looking for. No pain, no memories, nothing. But then I heard the sharp voice of a woman demanding I wake the fuck up, and then another, softer voice – a whispered promise. My promise. And then a small, frightened boy trying not to cry. ‘Did Jus have a accident too, Mama?'_

 _And then I did wake up, alone in my studio, reeking of paint and tequila and puke. Jesus._

 _I knew I’d never feel deeper shame than I did in that moment. All I wanted, all I still want is the chance to prove myself worthy of the faith you had in me. I promise you, I will be here for Gus for as long as he needs me. I will be the man you believed me to be, Brian. I knew I needed to talk to someone before I ended up shaving my head and wearing pink again, so I asked around and Alex came highly recommended. You know I think therapy is bullshit just as much as you do, so we just meet at Woody’s and talk. Shut up. It helps._

 _I’ve decided to move back into the loft. I think it will be good for Gus to be able to visit there. I still can’t believe what you did. God, Brian, the house, the loft, the car. All that money. I told Mel and Lindsay I didn’t want it, it should go to Gus. He shouldn't pay because of some grand gesture to win me back. But Lindz told me about the insurance policies. I should have known better. And Mel told me you wrote your will when... fuck, when I was still in Hollywood. You didn't even know for sure if I was coming back, Brian. And you never changed it, not even after... Fuck. Ted is going to look after the club and Mom told me the notes on the house and Kinnetik were both insured as well. I don’t even know what to say, Brian, except I want to do something important with it, something... honorable. Something worthy of the legacy of Brian Kinney. I have no fucking clue what that might be right now, but the first thing I’m going to do is go back to school._

 _The tragically obvious notwithstanding, my list of regrets in life is surprisingly short, but not getting my degree after all the money that you invested in my education is right at the top. PIFA is off the table – they can go fuck themselves. Thanks to my impressive portfolio, a stellar scholastic record, and a little help from Ben, it looks like I'll be accepted into the BHA program at Carnegie Mellon for the fall semester. I’m hoping it will feed my artistic needs and maybe help me get an actual job if my career as the next Andy Warhol doesn’t pan out._

 _I’m taking some new meds for the migraines now, and my hand – well I don’t think that will ever really stop being painful. But I’ll deal. I miss you, Brian. Every day. I don’t think that will ever really stop, either.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _April 12, 2005_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _I found it. God, you are such an asshole. And I love you, too. I’m not even sure what made me open it - that bag from the hospital with your... effects. Shit, I hate that word. It’s been sitting by the dresser since I moved my stuff back. I just couldn’t... you know? But tonight... I needed you._

 _Halstead’s trial started today. The bastard pleaded not guilty. Funny how his confession suddenly became the product of ‘the voices in his head’ after the State’s Attorney charged him with eleven counts of first degree murder. It’s unbelievable – I was sure they would fuck us over again. But the whole fucking world is watching this time, Brian. They’re going for the death penalty. I hope he gets it, and I hope that I can be there when they put the fucking needle in his arm. I’d spike him myself if they’d let me._

 _I didn’t go to the courthouse. The press is relentless and it seems like they’ve fixated on us. And by us I mean you and me, the ‘tragic young lovers’. Of course they dug up the bashing, or should I say The Bashing. That’s how they say it – with capital letters in their voices. It’s fucking crazy, Brian. Sydney Bloom called me today. He still has a couple of my pieces there from the show and he said there was a bidding war going on. A fucking BIDDING WAR. I told you. Crazy. I can’t deal with that right now. I don’t want to be some kind of pathetic poster boy. If that’s the only reason they want my work then they can fuck off. I’d rather burn it than sell it to fucking ghouls._

 _Anyway. I opened the bag tonight. I guess I’ve been scared to ‘til now, which is pretty ridiculous considering I see it every night when I close my eyes – the paramedic cutting through the leather... Damn. I’m not even sure why they returned it, except that it was so obviously expensive. It still smells like you. God, I miss that so much. Shit. Holding that jacket felt like... like I was holding you. I know – pathetic. Too fucking bad. Sue me. Anyway, I found the bracelet in the inside pocket. You are unbelievable, Brian. It’s beautiful. Jesus Christ, you really did mean it, didn’t you? I almost missed the inscription, it’s so tiny. But it means so much more to me than any rings or vows ever would have. And Brian? Now I know, too.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _July 8, 2005_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _Holy shit. Eleven consecutive life sentences. No possibility of parole. Can you fucking believe it? The jury didn’t buy his insanity defense, thank God. It only took them two days to convict him on all counts but we’ve been waiting nearly three months for the sentence to come down. We were hoping for the death penalty but maybe this is better. Maybe this is real justice, making him spend the rest of his miserable life with nothing but men. I was there this time, Brian. I watched while the judge told him he was going to die in prison and the cowardly piece of shit broke down like a little girl. They practically had to carry him out of the courtroom. So much for martyrdom._

 _I keep waiting to feel something. Satisfaction? Relief? Closure? I don’t know. It all just feels like a huge fucking waste. Motherfucker.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _August 28, 2005_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _I drove to West Virginia yesterday. I don’t know how many times I started out for it this summer and then turned around. Yeah, I know. Shut up._

 _I spent hours wandering through the rooms, roaming the grounds. Jesus, a tennis court? Stables??? Everything I ever thought I wanted. I think we could have been happy there together, Brian, I really do. But I called Mom when I got home this morning. You understand, right?_

 _The reopening of Babylon was a big fat fucking success. I know some people didn’t think we should do it – that it was somehow disrespectful of the people who died. Of... you. But I know that is bullshit. We decided to reopen because of you – because of all of you. To show them that they didn’t win, that they will never win. Ted has been great. He offered to oversee the rebuilding and hired a kickass manager out of New York City. They say the place looked amazing and the lineup to get in was three blocks long. It’s been open for three months now and by all accounts it has reclaimed its place as the hottest club in Pittsburgh. I haven’t been yet. I’m not sure I ever will._

 _Classes start tomorrow. I’m freaking out a little but in a good way. The University has some amazing facilities, especially for mixed media. Very forward-thinking and progressive, unlike PIFA who pretty much had their heads up their asses when it came to anything outside the box. I’ve been working a lot this summer. My hand is better (mostly) and .... it helps._

 _Sydney called me over to the gallery last week. Simon Caswell was there (still a pretentious cunt, btw) and he had the editor from ArtForum with him this time. They want to do a feature on me. Jesus. I told them I wasn’t interested in people who only saw me as some kind of tragic figure – that’s when Sadie (the editor) told *me* to get my head out of my ass and realize what I was throwing away. ‘Everybody has a story, Justin. Everybody has pain. Not everybody has this kind of opportunity. Don’t fuck it up for no good reason.’_

 _Jesus Christ, Brian, it was her voice, but I swear it was you I heard speak. Anyway, I brought them to the studio and showed them the rest of my work and she didn’t say much, but I could see it, Brian. Especially when she was looking at the painting from that night... I could see it in her eyes – she got it. Sydney saw it too, I guess, because he offered me a solo show. A Solo Show. To coincide with the article. In fucking November. Are they out of their fucking minds? Am I? I think I must be, because I said yes. Holy shit.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _March 24, 2007_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _It’s finally here. This past year is a blur. Between school and my art and the project, I’m so fucking exhausted I don’t know my own name most of the time. It’s all worth it though. I told you I wanted to do something good with what you gave me, something important. I think we have. I hope you think so, too. Our official opening is tonight._

 _The studio was Lindsay’s idea. Well, Lindsay’s and mine. And Stella’s. (Stella is my agent. I have an agent. How crazy is that?) I think they just got tired of listening to me bitch about the lack of room in my studio, and the loft – well the first time I spilled paint on the hardwood I had nightmares for a week. Starring you. Anyway, I’ve been making a little money from my work, so I started looking around for a place, but couldn’t find anything that felt right. When Lindsay suggested the Kinnetik building (suggested, as in, 'it's absolutely criminal of you to leave it sitting there empty, Justin'), I thought she was out of her mind. I must admit, though, that it's just about perfect. Something about the light and... I don’t know, it sounds corny I guess, but it’s like there is an energy there, an aura – like it was meant to be a place where imagination and creativity live. Leave it to you to see all that in a decaying old bathhouse._

 _It didn’t take much to convert it into a studio. The open concept was ideal and apart from adding a couple of skylights, we haven’t changed much except the name. Kinnetik is you Brian, and it always will be. 9th Street Studios isn’t the most original thing I’ve ever come up with, but I said it so many times over the last year (I’m at the studio, on 9th Street) it just kind of stuck. There is still so much of you there – in the ancient concrete walls with their peeling paint and old chrome fixtures, so incongruous to the polished marble floor and hi-tech lighting. A study in contrasts. Just like you. So cynical and callous on the surface, but underneath... yeah, still cynical and callous. But that never stopped you from being a truly generous and caring man. Debbie got it right you know – your biggest organ was always your heart._

 _That’s why even though you’re probably calling me all kinds of a twat right now, I know you understand. The foundation is going to help a lot of people, Brian, and I want them to know where it came from. I need them to know. I thought of naming it something cute, like ‘Britin’, but I figured you’d find a way to come back and haunt my ass if I did that, so I settled on The Kinney Foundation. Apart from the annual Brian A. Kinney Scholarship (shut up – deal with it), we’re going to have four grants every year that will cover studio space, art supplies and $2500 towards tuition at CMU. There’s room to spare at the studio, and we left the front area open – kind of a resident artist’s gallery where each person will get to show their work while they are part of the program._

 _The University has been really great, especially the Dean of Student Affairs. She is a good friend of Ben’s and has agreed to sit on the board with us, along with Jamie Kingsbury (the head of the Art School), Lindsay, Ted and myself. Ted says that there is enough money from the sale of the house and Babylon to keep it going for at least five years and we are getting new patrons all the time. Hopefully tonight will mean even more money for the foundation – half of Pittsburgh society is coming, thanks to Senator Baxter. I guess all the publicity was good for something after all._

 _The whole gang is coming over before we go to the party and I expect Mel and Lindz will be here any minute now. I’m so glad they decided to let Gus come with us tonight. He’s such a good kid, I love having him around. He’s smart and he’s sweet and god Brian, sometimes it hurts just to look at him. I wouldn’t miss a minute of it though. Anyway, I guess I should go and start getting ready._

 _I miss you Brian. I love you. I hope you’ll be proud.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _September 19, 2012_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _Gus turned twelve today. I gave him a new Nikon SLR for his birthday – it’s probably a little too much camera for his age, but he’s been driving us all insane with the photography talk ever since he found a box of your old equipment in the back of the closet a few months ago. Besides, he’s pretty responsible and it was obvious how much he loves it. I thought his head was going to explode when he opened it. He’s always had an artistic nature – how could he not with you and Lindsay for parents? But he seems to have a real passion for photography and an amazing eye for a kid his age. I can’t wait to see what he does with it. God, he’s amazing, Brian. He’s already almost as tall as I am and he’s a little braniac in school. He's a great kid, even if he can be a real wiseass sometimes. (I guess that's also ~~herditiary~~ ~~heditarary~~ Fuckinghell. I guess he got that from you, too.) He’s happy though, and he's a great kid._

 _His birthdays are always kind of bittersweet for me, but this one... damn. This one was hard. Twelve *years*_

 _I’m the same age now you were the night Gus was born, twelve years ago tonight. You were so fucking beautiful – like nothing I’d ever seen before (or since, if I’m going to be completely honest – and since I’m pretty much shit-faced at the moment, honesty is all I’ve got). The face of God. That’s what I told Daphne the next day. Jesus, how did you all stand me? I know - you didn’t. Ha!_

 _Didn’t matter though, because I loved you enough for the both of us, right from that first moment. Can I tell you a secret? You told me once that I said the Prom was the best night of my life, but you know what? It wasn’t. That was – the night I met you._

 _Anyway. What was I saying? Right, Gus turned twelve today and you know what I realized? He’s had more birthdays without you now than he had with you. You’ve been gone for more than half his life. You’ve been gone longer than I knew you. Do you know how much that sucks, Brian? Do you know how fucking unfair that is? Really fucking monumentally, colossally, get-bashed-in-the-head-on-your-prom-night unfair, that’s how much. Enough to make me dig out this journal after all this time. Damn._

 _Tomorrow it will be twelve years and a day, and I’ll wake up next to Nicky. I’ll go back to being mostly happy, and I’ll mean it when I say that my life is good because it’s the truth, and I’ll regret buying this bottle of Jim Beam Black just because it seemed kind of poetic. Tonight though? I’m gonna have another drink.  
_

* * *

 _  
_

 _March 25, 2017_

 _Dear Brian,_

 _I miss you tonight. I guess that seems pretty weird after all these years, but it’s true. Weeks, months, years – the calendar doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s only time._

 _There are just some things that you should have been here to see and this was one of them. Tonight your son had his very first show. Ostensibly, it was our tenth anniversary gala. We auctioned some of my pieces and raised a boatload of money for the foundation – but all that was really beside the point. Gus Petersen-Marcus was the star of the show._

 _We’re so proud of him, Brian. His work is really incredible. Sharp, insightful, with a depth of emotion that would be remarkable for a seasoned photographer. For a kid barely out of high school it’s extraordinary. And that’s not just my admittedly biased opinion. The critic from the Post-Gazette called his exhibit ‘A visually stunning, sometimes disturbing collection of images of the youth of Pittsburgh, from the hollow-eyed rentboys who prowl Liberty Avenue to the country club girls of Sewickley. Individually, each photo tells a story, some heartbreaking in their beauty, some just heartbreaking. Collectively, they create a striking mosaic that is, well, a work of art.’_

 _Pretty fucking amazing for not-quite seventeen-years old._

 _He’s so funny. The kid is gifted. He’s been accepted to School of the Art Institute of Chicago for the fall on a merit scholarship. He’s faced judgment in the most prestigious national arts competition in the country (an NFAA YoungArts Silver medalist, thank you very much). And still, his first show in his hometown, surrounded by family and friends and he spent half the evening looking as though he might throw up at any minute. He looks so much like you that sometimes I forget he hasn’t yet acquired your cocky self-confidence. God, Brian, were you ever that young? It doesn’t matter though - by the time the evening was over he had everyone in the room wrapped around his little finger just like he always does. He might not have your audacity but he has your wicked charm and brooding good looks in spades. God help us all when he really learns how to use them._

 _Ten years, Brian. It doesn’t seem possible that ten years could have passed and yet the proof was all around me tonight. In the glasses that Michael has taken to wearing recently; in the silver threading Ben’s sandy brown hair; in the fine lines that crease the corners of Lindsay’s eyes; in Gus, practically a man and on the cusp of a brilliant future. It’s there in my own mirror every morning, even if Deb tells me I still look seventeen. Okay, what she actually says is I’m too fuckin’ skinny and maybe I should show up for Sunday dinner more than once in a blue fuckin’ moon – but that’s semantics. Heh._

 _I know she worries about me – they all do. It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m only a couple years older than Michael was when he met Ben, they all think I should be married by now, with a dog and 2.3 children. Michael says I’m alone because I compare every man to you, but that’s not true. Or at least not as true as it once was. I believe when it’s meant to happen, if it is meant to happen, it will. For a while I thought Nicky might be the one... I swear Deb took it harder than I did when we broke up._

 _We’re all going to Woody’s later. I can’t even remember the last time we did that – probably Hunter’s stag a couple of years ago. He’s the only one who couldn’t make it tonight. Amber is due any day now and he won’t leave her alone for more than five minutes. Fucking twins, can you imagine? Who would have thought that the littlest hustler would turn out to be the family man among us? I don’t think Michael has stopped twitching yet – he can’t quite get over the fact that he’s going to be a Grandpa. Shit, I don’t think he’s ever quite gotten over the fact that Hunter is straight. Just so you know, Gus hasn’t told us in so many words yet, but by the way he and his friend Daniel look at each other, I doubt we have to worry about that. I think he just likes torturing us._

 _Maybe it’s not so strange that I’m feeling this way tonight. Maybe it’s this place, or maybe it’s because it’s been so long since we’ve all been together at the same time... Maybe it’s just me being a sentimental twat, I don’t know. It happens sometimes when I’ve been away for too long. I mean I love New York, it’s great. There’s a whole different kind of energy there. But here, the Pitts, the loft, this studio, this is home. I can remember who I am here. I think I’ll stay for a while this time, at least until it’s time for Gus to leave for Chicago. I miss spending time with him. I miss the loft. I miss... you._

 _Not in a heartbreaking way – I don’t mean that. I don’t know... Don’t take this the wrong way, but it almost never hurts to think of you anymore. In fact sometimes I go weeks, even months without ever thinking of you at all and then there’ll be an ad in a glossy magazine for the new Prada collection, or I’ll catch the spicy aroma of Thai food emanating from the little take-out place down the street, and I’ll smile without even realizing why. You’re a part of me, Brian. The way that art is a part of me. The way that breathing is a part of me._

 _But every once in a while... a glimpse of hazel eyes more gold than green... the scent of really fine leather... moonlight filtering through the windows of the loft at just the right angle and I’ll find myself just like this, with this overwhelming need to close my eyes and see your face again, to feel you. To remember. Twelve years you’ve been gone and I can still feel your warm breath in my ear. I can still hear your whispered words when I need them._

 _I allow myself these moments – I learned a long time ago not to resist them – and then I open my eyes and you’re gone again, back to the past where you belong. Where we belong. Only this time the memories aren’t fading quite as quickly as they usually do. Maybe because tonight I’m not the only one thinking of you._

 _I heard Gus talking to Daniel earlier. They were looking at the painting – it’s still hanging in the same place it was the day we opened, you know. Stella still brings me an offer for it every so often. I don’t think she’s ever going to accept that it’s not for sale at any price. Anyway. I heard Gus telling him that I painted it years and years ago, right after his dad died and I was all kinds of fucked up. He said it sort of made his heart hurt to look at it for too long and for a second I thought that Daniel was going to rag him for being a pussy or something. But he just put his arm around Gus’s shoulders and they stood there for a while, and then he asked him why he looked at it if it hurt. I guess I must have made some kind of noise then because they both finally noticed me standing there. Gus rolled his lips and shrugged in that way of his that makes me believe he’s your clone, not your son, and I was sure he was going to make some smartass remark to cover his emotions (like I said –your clone), but he didn’t. He said... Christ, Brian, he looked me right in the face and said he didn’t mind the hurt because it helped him to remember and he wanted to always remember. Not that you died, but that you lived and you were proud and brave and didn’t take shit from anyone, and that you were loved. Damn. I didn’t tell him how proud you would be of him, Brian, or how much you loved him. I didn’t have to._

 _Just like I don’t have to tell you._

 _They’re waiting for me now – I can see Michael hovering outside my office door. I know you’ve been on his mind tonight, too. And Lindsay’s. Inevitable, I suppose, on a night like this, just like the tears will be later. But there will be laughter, too. And celebration._

 _I read a quote from F. Scott Fitzgerald once. He wrote, ‘Show me a hero and I’ll write you a tragedy’. Somehow, I think he must have known you, Brian - larger than life, daring and brave, beautiful but flawed, loved in spite of (and by some, because of) your unapologetically wicked ways. I wonder if he could have imagined a tragedy more devastating than the reality of losing you? Doubtful. Gus, Michael, Lindsay, Debbie, even Teddy, we all changed a little the day you left us. None of us are the people we might have been if things had happened differently. We are each a little less, but we’re also a little more for having endured. Our non-defined, non-conventional family has survived, even thrived, just like you would have expected... no, demanded of us. No apologies. No regrets. But always love, Brian. There has always been love. There always will be._

 _  
_

* * *

**Valediction**  
      1. an act of bidding farewell or taking leave.  
      2. an utterance, oration, or the like, given in saying goodbye or taking leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who stuck with me here til the end. There is, in my opinion, no greater love story than the Brian/Justin love and I honestly believe this story was and is a tribute to that love. Cowlip gave us two amazing characters, Gale and Randy brought them to life in a way that no other actors could have, and the awesome writers of this fandom have kept them alive for us (especially late-comers like me) all these years with some of the most wonderful writing I've ever read - and I don't just mean in fan-ficdom. I am proud to be a small part of that. If you would like a pdf download of Valediction (with cover art) I have uploaded it to sendspace [here](http://www.sendspace.com/file/lo1pzn)


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